


Death Eater Chronicles

by AdelineGryffindor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Apparating (Harry Potter), Avada Kedavra, Barebacking, Canon Compliant, Cheating, Come Swallowing, Consensual Underage Sex, Creampie, Dark, Death Eaters, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/M, Facials, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Hogsmeade, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Light BDSM, Malfoy Manor, Multi, Orgy, POV Bellatrix Black Lestrange, POV Severus Snape, Porn With Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Humor, Smut, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-04-25 18:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 24,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22328554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelineGryffindor/pseuds/AdelineGryffindor
Summary: 18-year-old Snape's entry into the Caligula-like coven, told through the interwoven perspectives of Bellatrix, Snape, and a few surprise cameos. This is the origin story of Snape, Bella, Lucius, Narcissa, the Lestranges and other Death Eaters.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Other(s), Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rabastan Lestrange, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Severus Snape, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy/Other(s), Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s), Severus Snape/Other(s)
Comments: 67
Kudos: 98





	1. New Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Smutland! Please enjoy this lemon playground and character origin story. I wrote this as a palate cleanser while writing the Adeline novella (now archived) for SnapeBang 2019 and it took on a life of its own.
> 
> Warnings: Muggle/Blood traitor non-con in several chapters. I am not a fan of gratuitous violence; any instances will be necessary to the plot and origin story. The chapter titles often indicate if so. If underage characters appear, it will always be consensual, if not gentle.  
This is a story of a Dark and formative time in Snape and Bella's lives, with plenty of non-con or dubious con -- consider this an overall warning. Going forward there will be no more individual chapter warnings.

Malfoy Manor, July 1978

From behind the fringe of her dark curls, the witch watched as the Malfoy heir delivered the winning blow. Straightening from his dueling stance, he blew a wisp of golden hair out of his face and holstered his wand. Avery lay on the ground, teeth gritted in pain as he attempted to sit up. Lucius didn't help him.

One of the many sycophants—there seemed to be more every day—came running up to Malfoy with a handkerchief, which the latter used to wipe his hands before dropping on the ground for the little tosser to pick up. Malfoy strode smoothly to the bound Muggle girl and snapped his fingers. The ropes around her feet fell away and she followed him into the Manor, looking relieved he had won instead of his ferret-nosed opponent.

She shouldn't have been. What he would do would be far worse than any other Death Eater was capable of.

Bella had seen her sister's fiancé take countless conquests behind closed doors. Some eventually reappeared, in some state or other. Others didn't.

Bella had delved into Cissy's mind regularly to ensure Lucius wasn't treating her sister similarly, but it had all been quite chaste. If anything, Malfoy seemed almost hesitant to touch Narcissa, as if she were a flower he didn't want to mar.

It had always been that way. Andy, when she was still with the family, had been the tomboyish version of Bella, the one everyone loved joking with. Cissy was the delicate one with the prim manners and fancy affectations.

And Bella. She was beautiful; that was clear. But there was something about her that made men either want to hurt her, or cower in fear.

It was because she was damaged. By the love that had her enslaved. And even before that, when she had taken the brunt of her father's unclean disdain to shield the younger two.

Bella pushed her hair out of her face and shook clear the memories. It was no use dwelling in what could not be changed. She turned into the Manor.

On her way to the grand staircase, she passed the servants' quarters. A door was ajar, and she could see Lucius standing over the naked Muggle, pounding forcefully into her throat. The familiar choking sound filtered into the hallway. This would only be the beginning for the girl.

Bella moved past the doorway. Malfoy always did this. He seemed to enjoy it more when there was an audience. There was a time when Bella had been on the skewered end of a spit roast between Lucius and the Mulciber boy, but that had been at Hogwarts, in those innocent days when an orgy in the Slytherin boy's dormitory was the scandal of the time. Malfoy had been 15 then, already a full-length cock on his still-thin body.

She'd just reached the bottom step when the front door cracked open and a figure slipped into the hall. He stopped when he saw her, and they stood wordlessly for a moment, taking each other in.

Bella's bottom lip curled. He wasn't at all handsome, or particularly tall. His entirely black clothing—waistcoat over a button-front, trousers—only emphasized how thin he was. His black hair hung lankly around his face, which was all severe angles. But the way he stood there, brand new yet unafraid, looking poor and close to dirty amidst the opulence intrigued her.

The high, almost equine cheekbones coupled with a prominent, hooked nose gave him a regal mien at odds with the thin quality of his clothes. What had made her lip curl, however, was the mongrel look in his coal eyes: a hungry, uncontainable look that would never be satisfied.

Men like that knew how to fuck.

But he was yet a boy, his lips in a defensive pout seen on schoolchildren who'd taken a walloping a time too many.

There were always two kinds who joined: those who'd grown too used to power to give it up, and those who finally tired of never having any.

It was the latter who made the truest Death Eaters.

"There he is!" Malfoy's voice rang out behind her.

Bella blinked from her reverie as Lucius sauntered past her, his long hair now flowing freely over his shoulders and his shirt unbuttoned half down his ample chest. Clearly the first round had relaxed him.

Malfoy slung a muscular arm around the boy's narrow shoulders. To his credit, the boy didn't sway under Lucius' sudden weight.

"Bella, you know who this is?" Malfoy drawled.

"No, Lucius, I do not know every single one of your minions," she said in a bored voice.

"Ha!" Malfoy clapped the boy on the back. "This is no minion. This is like a little brother to me."

Bella arched an eyebrow. "Really? I've never heard mention of him."

"Ignore sourpuss," Malfoy said to the boy, pulling him past her. "Come. You ever bugger a Muggle?" He started dragging the boy towards the servants' quarters.

Bella drew up her skirts and started up the steps. "Well, family is about sharing, isn't it?"


	2. Welcome to the Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Lemon, All the Time

The boy watched the witch - Bella - ascend the staircase, her long, dark hair tumbling down her straight back, before Lucius yanked him into a vestibule. The middle door stood open and a naked Muggle knelt on the floor by the bed. Her yellow hair was disheveled and her eyes and nose runny.

She had just been face fucked.

"Seat of honor," Malfoy announced, striding into the room and pulling a chair. He just about clapped the boy down into it and turned to the Muggle. "Get to it, sweetheart."

Listlessly, she crept between the boy's legs and reached for his belt. He started, but Lucius waved him back down.

"Relax, she's Confunded."

The boy glared. In a surprisingly deep voice he said, "I don't want your sloppy seconds."

Malfoy shrugged. "She swallowed it all." He peered at the floor. "And I had her lick up whatever she didn't."

The Muggle had undone the boy's trousers. He jumped as she grasped him in her hands. Despite himself, he was hardening as her face moved closer. Whatever further protest he had died when she took him into her warm mouth, moving her lips around his head a few times before sliding them down his length.

He watched as his cock slowly disappeared into her mouth, halfway, three quarters, and still going. He wasn't sure how large he'd be considered, but it had to be past her mouth by now. As if in answer to his wonder, he felt his cock hit a resistance, then a delicious tightening around the head as it pushed past. Her throat gave a gurgle, delivering a vibration that made him push his cock in deeper.

Malfoy had been unbuckling his own belt and he now raised the Muggle to her feet so that she was bent at the waist. While she continued to deepthroat the boy, Lucius positioned himself unceremoniously at her entrance and thrust inside in one stroke.

"You better be wet, slag, because that's all the preparation you'll get for your bum."

By the way she squealed around his cock, the boy guessed she wasn't entirely.

Lucius pulled out and repositioned himself, pushing forward so that the boy's cock hit the Muggle's throat once more. Her cry of pain was muffled by the shaft in her mouth.

Malfoy went right to it, buggering her with long, merciless strokes that drove her onto the boy's cock over and over. A keening began, which annoyed Lucius so he summoned his wand and silenced her with a charm.

A sort of disgust arose in the boy, but the sensation of his cock in her mouth was undeniably pleasurable. These countervailing impulses brought a beastly feeling out of him, and fed a Darkness that had been growing inexorably since that day at the lake in his fifth year.

His hands were suddenly on the girl's head, and he fucked into her mouth with a steady fury.

"That's it," Malfoy growled, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He had removed his shirt and his chest was reddening, the light brown hairs darkening with his sweat.

The thought of that ignominious day, of all the days before and all the days after at the hands of those Gryffindor cowards incensed the boy. He drove into the mouth at the end of his cock, not sensing the head between his hands anymore, but only something hot and tight that urged him on to fuck until he could forget, until he could feel something other than pain, and anger, and misery, until the torment could end for just one moment—

He put his head back and moaned from deep within that Dark hole, as his hips bucked into the Muggle's face, and his cock spurted violently, deep, and hard into her throat.

From far off, Malfoy was groaning, coming, emptying himself. The boy brought his head up and opened his bleary eyes.

Malfoy, his face shiny with perspiration, smiled his sparkling grin.

"Well, Severus. Welcome to the club."


	3. Begin the Process

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lemons end quickly on this one - little more character

The boy grunted and shot his load into the Mudblood's cunt. He released her immediately, letting his seed drip from her used pussy into the grass as he stalked off.

Bella stood a distance away, twirling her hair and watching dispassionately.

Severus Snape had become quite the sensation at Malfoy Manor. Since his famous introduction a fortnight ago, word had travelled quickly about the new recruit's power and prowess. The seemingly shy, recent graduate had apparently summoned so much Dark magic when he came that the Muggle still hadn't recovered her voice and probably wouldn't. She would likely also be wearing his handprints on the sides of her head permanently.

Now the Dark Lord was readying the boy wonder for a Dark Mark.

Bella watched two minor Death Eaters untie the Mudblood from the frame.

"Oh to be eighteen again," came her husband's voice. Rodolphus sidled up to her.

"Jealous?"

"Perhaps. You?"

"Of course. But of whom?" Bella raised her eyebrows and sauntered off towards the house.

* * *

Snape turned the spigots and got into the tub before it even began filling. He could have cast any number of cleansing spells on himself, but he preferred to wash by hand after these exhibitions.

He breathed out his tension as the hot water slowly rose. These public fuckings never relaxed him the way they did Lucius. They were pleasurable, yes, in a quick, cheap way. And they allowed him, for the moment, to get away from the memories that haunted him. But they were just another performance serving another purpose. They never provided any true release.

Permanent freedom.

That was the unattainable grail.

* * *

"Bella."

She snapped to attention in a way no other voice could make her do.

"Yes, my Lord." Bella automatically bowed her head.

"It seems you haven't had much to do of late."

"I am…at your perpetual command, my Lord."

She felt him circle her, the Darkness pulsating off him like a seductive scent.

"This new recruit. Young Severus. What think you of him?"

Bella glanced up. The Dark Lord had his hands clasped behind his back, looking as if he'd just asked for the weather report.

She swallowed. "He is…eager, I'd say. Rather sure of himself."

"Rather sure…" The Dark Lord had an inscrutable look on his smooth face. He swiveled suddenly to her, making her flinch. "You will begin the process."

She paused, taken aback. "My Lord."

"Tonight."

With that, he turned in a whirl of robes and vanished.

"Yes…my Lord," she said into the air.


	4. Burnt Umber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay my first Kudos! So appreciative of your reading my work!

The girl had made it to the side of his bed by the time he woke. 

Severus reached for his wand before he realized she was naked. In the blue light slanting in from the window, her breasts shone round and pearlescent, her nipples erect from the cool night air. With a swift move, she pulled his blanket to the side and straddled him.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

Her weight settled on his pelvis. His body responded as if trained. 

By this time, it was.

“I had to find you,” she said in a familiar lilt.

Severus blinked. 

Her hands were reaching into his underpants, fingers grasping his member, which was hardening quickly as she drew it out into the air.

He struggled to focus, squinting at her face that was hidden behind a waterfall of…what color was that? 

“I could only now get away,” she was saying, rubbing her wetness against him.

He fought back a groan and redoubled his focus. His own hands went to her hair, parting the long wash of reddish burnt umber…

“Sev,” she breathed.

Severus’ calloused hands gripped the girl’s arms and flung her off him. 

She landed with an unpleasant thump on the hard floor. Severus flipped his wand from under his pillow and had it pointed at her while she pushed herself upright, laughing sharply.

“I see the rumors are unfounded,” the witch said, drawing herself up to her full height. Bella threw her now dark waves over her bare shoulder as if they’d merely been tousled by a passing breeze.

Severus scowled. “You’re sick. Why are you here?”

“Just checking upon our little protege.” She leaned in, planting her hands on either side of him. “And what a welcome salute I was met with.”

Severus turned his face away. “I knew it was you,” he muttered.

“Eventually you did,” she agreed. “You’re quite skilled…for your age.”

Severus was annoyed. He’d trained his Legilimency to a fairly decent level, but her Occlumency was quite good. She’d almost had him fooled.

Or it was his own weakness.

“It could be,” she said, plucking the thought from his mind and raising another snarl from him. “Or it could be my company you find so…bewitching.” She laughed again.

“It’s not. I don’t.” 

He was sulking and they both knew it. With a triumphant air about her, Bella crossed to the door, a slow hitch in her hip.

“Not pleased to see me, are you?” she said with a downward glance over her shoulder, before disappearing into the hallway.

Severus hit his fist into the mattress in frustration. Even if he could shore up his mental defenses, his body still betrayed him. He had caught every movement of her dark hair against her creamy skin, especially how the ends brushed her rounded rear as she walked to the door, and there was no hiding his raging erection.


	5. Can't Be Both

The boy was good.

Not even her own sisters could read Bella when she was at her maximum Occlumency. Yet the boy had not only pierced her illusion, but he had been a difficult one to break into to begin with.

It was Avery who had told her about the Evans girl, and ultimately provided the reference as well. Bella hated to admit that she couldn’t pull the Mudblood’s face straight from Snape. The illusion would have been stronger with the effect of memory around it; perhaps he would have given in entirely and she would have experienced for herself what everyone was so fussed about.

She rolled her eyes at herself. He was a babe barely out of swaddling clothes. Skulking about with that mardy frown as if someone had always done him wrong. He was too young to be so serious.

A sudden flapping from the trees made Bella jump. A crow took off from a branch, shaking loose a shower of leaves. She glanced around. It wouldn’t do for anyone to catch her out thinking such things about the Dark Lord’s little pet. Even though there wasn’t a Death Eater strong enough to break her mental barrier save for the Dark Lord himself. 

And the new boy.

Now Bella was the one with the mardy frown. She hadn’t been joking with Rodolphus: she truly wasn’t certain whether the boy threatened or aroused her. It had to be one or the other.

Only the Dark Lord could do both.


	6. Kitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The origins of where Snape learned his impeccable Occlumency...

Bella rubbed her temples as the wailing grew louder. She considered casting a silencing spell on the closed door, but Cissy would know and the crying would go on even longer.

Narcissa had come to the Manor too early again.

“Put a bloody block on her,” Bella hissed to Malfoy. The bastard hadn’t even bothered to put his shirt back on.

“At my front gate? That would go over well,” he retorted.

“Worse than this is now, would it?”

He growled and opened the door. 

“Kitten,” he purred. 

Something delicate and expensive-sounding shattered against the frame. Lucius slammed the door shut again.

“She’s _your_ sister.” He stormed down the hall and disappeared into the back stairwell.

Bella leaned her head against the wall for a moment, then turned to face the door. Her hand stopped on the door handle as an idea struck her. It would work. 

“Let’s see how good you really are,” she said. 

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on one single sentence. Distance was extremely difficult; best to keep it simple. She amplified the message, until her forehead broke into perspiration with the effort. When she was sure she had amplified it as clearly as possible, she broadcast it and sank against the wall.

The hallway remained empty, the plush carpeting muffling even the revelry from the ground floor.

Then, a barely perceptible padding sounded in the stairwell and the lank frame glided into view.

Snape stopped in front of her slouching figure. She was too weary to bother straightening. 

“Perhaps try walking the message down next time.”

“Your services are needed,” she said by way of reply.

“Which one?” he asked glibly.

_Don’t you wish, you cocky man whore._

“Not particularly. I just ate.”

He certainly didn’t look like he ever ate. In a hushed voice, Bella told him her plan. 

“That is ridiculous,” he said when she finished. “Why not do it yourself?”

“She’ll know if it’s from me. She always does.” Bella sneered. “You don’t think you can do it.”

“Of course I can do it,” he snarled. “But after last night, why would I do you any favors?”

“Do it for Lucius,” she snapped. “You want the Malfoy-Black alliance broken? How would the Dark Lord respond to that?”

He pressed his lips together angrily. She knew she had him.

“Let’s be done with this,” he said.

Bella put her hand on the door handle again, steeled herself and entered the lion’s den.

Cissy lay upon a mountain of pillows against the headboard, her face streaky with kohl. She sat up quickly when she saw Snape, and clutched the stuffed Kneazle toy she held to her chest.

Bella resisted the urge to roll her eyes. One would think her drama witch of a sister were thirteen instead of twenty-three.

“Who are you?” Narcissa demanded. 

“This is Severus Snape,” Bella said with forced patience. “He’s the new boy.” She ignored his grumble.

“Why is he here?” 

“He came to say sorry,” Bella said with a genuine smile now. She relished this part.

“Sorry?” Cissy turned wide, confused eyes to her big sister.

“That’s right. I told him what a shock it was for you to have to see him in such a horrible, indecent, _animalistic_—”

_Enough_, he seethed into her mind.

“—act. So he came to apologize.”

“But, it wasn’t him I saw,” Cissy said. “It was…it was…” Her face began to crumple again.

“Snape,” Bella said quickly. “Don’t you have something to say?”

“Why, yes,” Snape said through gritted teeth. “Narcissa.”

Cissy turned to him in consternation.

“My…apologies.” As he spoke, he caught her in his gaze, locking her blue eyes until her pupils dilated as if in a trance.

Cissy’s original memory was so fresh and sharp Bella instinctively stepped back to avoid getting anything on her shoes.

A Muggle female straddled Lucius with surprising athleticism. He had been caught in worse positions, but it was probably the Muggle male lapping studiously underneath Malfoy’s testicles that had put Cissy in hysterics. 

Bella could feel Snape raising a mental eyebrow. She coughed back a laugh. If it weren’t her baby sister, she would have made a quip about being too uptight.

Leaving the link open so Bella could view it, Snape began his work. It was so powerful she felt as if she were close enough to experience it…

She _was _experiencing it. 

In Malfoy’s place, Snape wove himself in as per her instructions. The Muggle female remained. And where the Muggle male’s bobbing head used to be was now a headful of luscious, dark waves—

_You pigfucking son of—_

_Bella, you naughty minx, I had no idea—_

With a final flourish the memory snapped into place, so seamless Bella thought for a moment it was in her head as well. With a grimace, she shook it from her mind until it dissipated like a mirage.

_You cuntsucking rat._

_If you want to that badly, all you have to do is ask._

“It was no sight for a lady. What a fright you have had,” Snape continued fluidly.

“Yes, well,” Cissy said, “Lucius says there are things best left unsaid.”

“And unseen,” Bella picked up the conversation. “Cissy, this is why Lucius tells you not to come early. He’s looking out for you.” She could gag on her own lie.

Her sister nodded meekly. Her nose wrinkled. “Bella…I didn’t think you would…”

Bella bared her teeth in what she hoped was a smile. “We don’t need to speak about this,” she said in a shrill tone. “Ever.” 

“My lips are sealed,” Snape said silkily.

With a look that would have killed a weaker man, Bella signaled the door. Snape bowed courteously to Cissy and made his exit. The door clicked softly behind him.

Bella was tucking the covers under Cissy’s chin a few minutes later when Snape’s deep voice entered her mind, clear as a bell and effortless. Show-off.

_Don’t forget our agreement, _he said_._

_Later_.

_I await. _He pulled out of her mind and all fell silent.


	7. Talk to Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lemons you've been waiting for

At Malfoy Manor, the orgy was in full swing.

Lucius had his bullwhip out, its annoying cracking sound pulling attention just as he wanted. The rack on the wall was chained with so many blood traitors they’d run out of shackles; it had been a successful raid.

On the divan, Snape leisurely swirled his cock in a circle in the Mudblood’s cleft. He’d picked the tiny, dark-haired one, who looked like she would break if Yaxley or Rosier got a hold of her. She’d trembled as Snape led her to the side, but he’d taken his time, laying her down slowly on the most cushioned piece of furniture in the room. He’d even gone so far as to unbutton his shirt. 

It was customary for the Death Eaters to remain at least partially clothed, asserting their dominance to the naked chattel. Lucius liked removing his shirt, if only to save it from staining during bloodplay. Most of the members didn’t go that far, claiming deference to Malfoy Manor’s cleanliness, but the estate was rife with house elves. 

Snape knew the real reason. No one wanted to admit that Lucius’ tastes went beyond what even some of these killers could stomach. Only Bellatrix could rival the Malfoy heir. But she’d married herself off years ago to the weak-chinned Lestrange man, an odd pairing by all accounts. Rodolphus was thirty, three years older than Bella, but it was clear who held the reins.

Snape was glad for the tradition of dress. His slim frame wasn’t much to look at, he knew. It would only harm the reputation he’d built for himself to reveal anything but his cock, which after a few of these soirees he could now say with certainty was well-sized. He wouldn’t have cared either way; he was more relieved its appearance was fairly unremarkable, without an awkward downcurve like Avery, the strange triangle shape of Rosier’s, or Carrow’s short, squat stump that didn’t fit anybody. Even Lucius’ massive horse cock was a bit ostentatious, like its owner.

But in this case, he thought the act of undoing his shirt might mitigate the disparity even to some tiny degree. She’d watched as he opened his trousers and brought himself forth. Grasping himself, he’d run the head of his cock along her slit, up to the top where he circled several times until she stilled. He continued rubbing the same spot, around and around, his own fluid smoothing the way. The girl’s breathing slowed, and after a few minutes it deepened and Snape saw her chest rise in a shudder. He glanced up to see if anyone noticed, but everyone was engrossed in their activities.

Still, he knew he couldn’t wait too long. He positioned himself at her entrance and watched her. She no longer looked afraid. Confused. Even…could it be curious? With his eyes on hers, Snape pushed himself in, inching into her. She was a little older, around Narcissa’s age and wore a wedding ring. He was glad for it, not that he was roosting another man’s wife, but that she was experienced.

Once he was fully in, he began rotating his hips, creating a new sensation for himself and going, he hoped, slowly enough for her to adjust. It seemed to work; there wasn’t the terrified constriction normally present. He had settled into an easy rhythm when suddenly her pelvis shifted. Thinking he’d hurt her, Snape withdrew partially and looked down. To his surprise, his shaft was coated with a viscous fluid. 

Hers. 

She was wet.

Snape paused. He knew this happened sometimes, even when a woman didn’t want to couple. He’d experienced it himself, the rapid shift of a woman’s body to accommodate his rough intrusion. But this girl’s breathing wasn’t the paralyzed one of fear. It was deeper, like the older Slytherin girl’s had been when he had lost his virginity in his sixth year.

He pushed back in - there it was again. The hitch in her breath, the tilt of her hips. He didn’t want to read her to hear her thoughts; that felt more invasive in a way. Thus he only had her physical responses to go off of. He began to thrust, faster but without force.

He reached for her breasts, a tawny shade whose contrast he liked under his pale hands. As he brushed his fingers over her nipples, her lids lowered. 

“Snape, you taking a nap over there?” Crabbe’s voice barked.

Snape’s head shot up. Crabbe stood a few feet behind him, fat dick in his hands. Snape knew he’d been with the same person too long. In addition to the tradition of staying clothed, it was customary to pass through each station efficiently, as to give everyone an equal opportunity to the spoils. Let it not be said the Death Eaters didn’t have their egalitarian moments.

“Just…trying something,” Snape said, gesturing vaguely at his temples.

“Well, hurry up with your mind games, we’ve a queue here.”

“I believe the rack has an opening.” Snape nodded his chin to the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Crabbe craned his thick neck. “Huh. I s’pose.” He lumbered off in that direction.

Snape turned back to the girl still impaled on his cock. There wasn’t much time; soon she would be in other, more uncharitable hands. Not bothering with magic, he thrust a hand between them and massaged as he began moving inside her again. Her chest lifted, but it still wasn’t enough.

“It’s faster if she does it herself.” The lips were against his ear before he could react.

He grabbed the girl’s hand and placed it on her mound. “Touch yourself,” he commanded. 

Her eyelids fluttered, but she obeyed.

“Talk to her,” Bella said into his ear. 

Snape licked his lips and hurriedly said, “That’s it. Make yourself wet.”

The girl’s hand moved over her clit.

“Yes,” Bella whispered. “Use that voice of yours.”

A shudder ran up Snape’s spine from Bella’s breath on his ear and he thrust harder into the pussy in front of him.

He swallowed and steadied his voice. “I want you to come for me, witch.”

“Oh you can do better than that,” Bella said, her lips brushing against his earlobe.

“Show me what a slut you are. Come for me like you don’t for your husband.”

A moan escaped from the girl’s mouth. Her hips ground into Snape’s.

“You see? We’re nothing but bitches in heat. We just need a stud to breed us.” Snape could feel Bella’s smile, smell her spicy scent as she lingered by his neck.

He gripped the hips in front of him reflexively, picking up the pace. The girl was moaning steadily now, her hand pressed hard around her clit. 

“Come on my cock, you tiny little whore. Show us all the slut you really are. Show us that you’re just a cocksleeve,” he growled. “Show us that you’re nothing but a filthy Mudblood for me to dump my come into.”

Her face suddenly twisted and he thought he’d gone too far. But then her legs stiffened, her pelvis bucked to meet his and he felt her clench around him, a feeling so pleasurable and almost painful as she squeezed him viselike, once, twice, several more times.

He gasped, nearly losing his balance but hanging on as the witch watching over his shoulder brought her lips to his ear once more and breathed, “Now breed the bitch with that young cock of yours.”

Snape exhaled, cresting over the edge. His cock jerked, pumping spurt after spurt into the girl with such intensity he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He groaned loudly, uncharacteristically.

When his balls were finally drained, a clapping sound brought him back. He opened his eyes.

The Death Eaters stood in a ring around him, applauding. Malfoy stepped forward and clapped him on the back.

“That’s my boy,” he said, as if announcing the winner of a prizefight. “Show these whores their place—and make them come from it!”

Several Death Eaters laughed appreciatively, nodding their approval to Snape before dispersing back to their respective stations.

Head reeling, Snape looked down to the girl but someone had already led her off. 

“Ready for the next one, are we?” Bellatrix was leaning against the divan, staring at his still stiff cock.

Snape stuffed himself back into his trousers.

“Oh wipe that perpetual pout off your face,” she said. “A ‘thank you’ will suffice.”

Snape sighed heavily. Quietly, he said, “Thank you.”

She smiled a canary-eating-cat smile.

“I haven’t forgotten our agreement,” Snape said.

“Oh, I haven’t either.” Bella walked up to him, leaning into his neck again. She was almost of a height to him, and her mane of curls tickled his face as she said into his ear, “But are you sure Occlumency is what you want to learn from me?”


	8. Memories

“Report.”

“He is strong, my Lord. Accomplished for his age. But there is more to learn.”

“And what of his weakness?” Voldemort’s voice rasped.

Bella’s mouth twisted. “It is still there, my Lord.”

“It must be excised.”

*******

The girl’s head hung over the side of the table. Yaxley was so far down her throat it bulged with every thrust. He was large, almost as big as Malfoy. So big there was no sound as he fucked her mouth right down to the bristles of his pubic hair. Snape wondered idly if the girl would lose consciousness. Perhaps she already had done. 

It would make it easier for everyone.

Malfoy stood on the other end of her, swatting her clit with a riding crop. After Snape’s performance Saturday last, the clit had made a comeback. Although Snape wasn’t sure this would produce exactly the same response.

“Severus,” Lucius called. “Care for a bugger?”

“Be my guest,” Snape replied. 

Lucius needed no further prodding. He pulled himself out of his trousers and slipped into his favorite entrance.

Snape had fucked his first arsehole when he had just arrived at the Manor. He slept not more than an hour those first three days, putting his dick into everything and coming so many times he was sure he’d be infertile before he turned nineteen. When Lucius invited him to stay, Snape gladly accepted. It seemed, at first, like everything he could ever want. 

He’d come to the Death Eaters with scant experience to his name. Other than the Slytherin seventh-year who enjoyed deflowering the younger boys, there had only been a Gryffindor in his final term who was on a dare to suck off the Darkest wizard in their rival House. The fourth-year had picked him, which he supposed was a compliment to his craft. It had been a messy affair, the bushy-tailed girl as novice as he was, but he came quickly and unexpectedly. She had pulled back in disgust, letting him dribble from her mouth and onto his own shoes. 

Now, in just a month at the Manor, he had seen so much it was almost boring. He had learned of himself: he enjoyed ejaculating into a woman’s mouth, the way the suction of her swallow seemed to pull his semen straight from his testicles.He liked it best when they weren’t Confunded, when their reactions were organic and real, even if it was distaste. But especially when they orgasmed in spite of themselves. That last orgy had made its impression; all the furious humping now appeared rote and mechanical. 

There was no art in it.

Snape knew better than to ever admit it, especially to Malfoy, but he didn’t care for anal sex. Curiosity had driven him to try it with enthusiasm the first time, but the aftermath had put him off it instantly. The bragging in the boys’ dormitory at school never mentioned the reality of what could be involved in buggering. Snape was not particularly squeamish; the number of animal carcasses in Advanced Potions would cure anyone of that. But he did have a touch of pride when it came to his own body’s cleanliness and there were materials he’d rather not have in contact with his member. 

It was simply unhygienic.

Now he only did it by direct request from the Dark Lord, washing assiduously afterwards in painfully scalding water.

Yaxley had thundered to an end and was slapping the girl’s face with his wet dick. 

“Get in here, Severus,” Malfoy said between grunts. “Finish her off.”

Snape pushed himself out of the chair and strode over. Just be done with this.

Yaxley moved off and Snape stepped up. Holding his cock over her slack face, he moved his hand rapidly. Closing his eyes, he thought of the Gryffindor girl. She had been slight, breasts barely starting to bud under her regulation white shirt. He realized he liked the girls small. It could be that he wasn’t a large man himself, and the tiny girls were easier for him to maneuver.

Even though she hadn’t known what she was doing, the way his cock looked in her small hands had gotten him halfway there already. He was torn between closing his eyes to the pleasure and staring in wonder at his cock in someone’s mouth.

When he had started to buck and she’d pulled away, a string of his issue had landed on the golden and crimson stripes of her House tie. As she sputtered, more of the white mucous escaped from her mouth. The sight of his ejaculate on her chin had brought forth another spurt, this one falling on his shoes.

Snape’s hand jerked rapidly now, picturing her silky cheeks drawing back in surprise and revulsion, seeing again his semen leaking from her lips, red and puffy from sucking a dick for the first time, her young face defiled.

He came now over this girl on the table, shooting a ropey line across her face. He leaned forward and decorated her tits with a pearl necklace, grinding the head of his cock into her pillowy breasts as he jerked the final bits out.

Malfoy was still going at the other end as Snape wiped his cock against her skin and buttoned himself back in. He slipped out, leaving Lucius’ noises behind.

It was time to call in the agreement.


	9. Asking for a Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you notice me giving our sex god a certain predilection you are correct - it is because I am colored and I make sure we get the fun we deserve ;)

“So you’re one of those,” Bella said.

“One of…” 

“It’s not enough for you to enjoy it—they have to, as well.” Bella smiled from her supine repose on her chaise. She’d been expecting Snape. 

It had taken a tremendous amount of effort, forcing her to stretch her Legilimency skills in order to track his movements. As untrained as his Occlumency was, he had a innate leaning towards it, making his mind more tiresome to penetrate unless he was entirely consumed by something else. Luckily, he had the vigor of youth on his side and he fucked constantly.

So Bella put out sensors regularly, inevitably catching him bollocks-deep in some new quim. His tastes were growing quite obvious: small, exotic. That little Gryffindor in his memories was no different: a thick fringe of lashes and a rosy cast under her brown skin.

At the end of this memory and the ensuing ejaculation, Bella’s hard work was rewarded with his immediate decision: Snape was on his way.

Now he stood just inside the closed door of her chamber, as if unwilling to enter too deeply into the lair. Bella’s room was in a different wing from the one Lucius had set up for Cissy when her sister visited. Bella may not be as depraved as the modified memory Snape implanted in Cissy’s mind, but there were plenty of things her sister didn’t need to know or hear.

Snape didn’t respond to her statement. She was correct. As usual.

“The dark Lord is like that,” she said. “That’s why you don’t see him partaking in these rituals. He is very…particular about his mates. Only a select few can withstand his tastes…and enjoy them.”

“A select few, like you?” he said pointedly.

She sniffed. “It _is_ an elite selection.” 

“Let it never be said you don’t serve our Dark Lord well.”

The canary-eating smile was back. “With pleasure.” She switched suddenly, saying loftily, “You’re here for something, I assume? Other than my beguiling company.”

He straightened like a soldier. “I am here for the Occlumency.”

She gave him a withering look. “You can’t be serious.”

“Quite. Shall we?” He finally moved away from the door.

With a deep sigh, she stood. “Very well.” She pointed to the bed on the far end of her palatial room. “Have a lie.”

“Nice try.”

“You should be so lucky. Now up with you.”

Many words seem to battle at his mouth to escape, but at last he squared his shoulders and marched stiffly to her queenly bed. 

“Shoes off. Can’t have you sullying my duvet.”

Gritting his teeth, he sat on her bedspread and doffed his boots.

“_Legilimens_!” she screeched.

His barrier was like a brick wall. It almost hurt to run into. He would be a fun one to break.

“Quite easy, isn’t it,” she said, “when you’re expecting it.” She clapped her hands twice. “Isidora!”

A girl entered from the bathroom. Snape started, but stayed where he was.

“Come meet this nice gentleman,” Bella said buoyantly. The girl walked obediently up to Snape, stopping inches from him. 

The games were about to begin.

“Let’s have a look,” Bella said with the air of someone browsing a selection of teacups.

The girl loosened her dressing gown and let it fall to the floor. Bellatrix noted a reaction in Snape that he couldn’t hide.

Isidora was perfect for this. A thick tumble of chocolate curls, soft eyes like a fawn, light olive-toned skin. Her curvy lips were full on her wide mouth and looked to permanently be on the verge of a smile. She was only a year older than Snape, her breasts perky as dandelions in the sun. She stood all of five feet three, and best of all--

“Isidora is from Cyprus. She would’ve liked to join us at Hogwarts, but her parents were quite devoted to Grindelwald and now, the Dark Lord. So she had to make do at Durmstrang.”

“Durmstrang,” Snape repeated. “So you’re—“

“Pure-blood,” Bella finished.

There was an unmistakable flash of interest in Snape’s eyes. Bella smiled. This was the thorn in the half-blood’s side. Even as he gained the respect of the Slytherin elite, he had always carried his blood status as a stain.

“There’s no use speaking to her. She certainly won’t be answering. The Dark Lord isn’t convinced of her place here, so she’s under my tutelage for now.” 

“You mean under your Imperius.” 

“You’ll find her more than willing, impelled or not. They’re a bit more…libertine at Durmstrang. Now, shall we begin?”

Isidora lifted a black scarf from the bedside and made to blindfold Snape. He reeled back. 

“So jumpy,” Bella chided. “Calm yourself; you still have your wand.”

His hand went to the wand stowed in his waistcoat but he let the girl wind the cloth around his head. Her breasts grazed his face as she reached behind to tie it, and Bella saw Snape inhale her scent.

“Would you like to taste one?” she said.

Silently he brought his hands up to her breasts, kneading once with his careful fingers before drawing one into his mouth. Bella saw his tongue swirl around the nipple and Isidora instantly moaned.

“You see,” Bella said. “That wasn’t impelled at all.”

Bella saw the bulge forming in Snape’s trousers. She flicked her wand and Isidora unbuttoned Snape’s trousers. His cock sprang forth at the ready. Rodolphus had spoken true; not fifteen minutes after shooting his seed across that minge’s face and he was at full mast again. Teenagers.

Snape brought out his wand but Bella forestalled him. “Isidora will do it.” 

Bella conjured a basin of warm water and a washcloth by the girl. Isidoraknelt and grasped the cock in front of her.

After an almost reverential cleaning, Isidora leaned forward without warning and licked the underside of Snape’s cock. He hissed, his cock jumping.

She teased him in that way, until his breathing grew shallow. Then she inserted the head into her mouth and slid her lips down the entire length in one motion, all the way into her throat.

Snape made a strangled sound as her face buried into his pubic hair and at that moment, Bella pointed her wand at his head and whispered, “_Legilimens.”_

Instantly images leapt forth. Sneering, caustic faces of four Gryffindor boys, their features made grotesque with the force of this memory. Snape’s thin body pummeled by their surprise spells, humiliated by their jeers and assaults. A tidal wave of shame and hatred, and deep, deliciously Dark rage.

Bella was hurtled from these memories with a force to her chest so furious she fell. Isidora cried out as she too was thrown backwards by Snape’s defensive spell. He stood now by the bed, breathing heavily with anger, his trousers already buttoned.

She scrambled to her feet. They faced each other, loathing in his eyes.

“You hate them?” she asked. “Good.” 

“Right now it is not them I hate,” he said in a low voice.

“You wanted to learn true Occlumency,” she spat. “You need to start by getting rid of these weaknesses.”

“Lessons are over.” In a twisting black swirl he Disapparated.


	10. A Visage to Match

Snape closed his eyes and fucked. He didn’t know who was at the end of his dick and he didn’t care. He just pushed his cock repeatedly into the hot hole in front of him and used it to stimulate himself. 

She had seen him. She had seen the memories. 

It had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have taken lesson with her.

Yet he needed to strengthen his Occlumency. This episode had only reinforced that. And she was the best at the Manor, apart from the Dark Lord. 

What a curse.

He fucked. 

Perhaps the Dark Lord…he destroyed the idea before it could form. The Dark Lord wasn’t here to play tutor.

He would have to do it on his own.

Just like everything. 

He had only himself.

Snape grabbed the hips of the body he was fucking and used them to pull her onto him, wanking himself furiously with this warm flesh sleeve until he gained his nut. He left it inside her and walked away, not bothering to watch it ooze from her worn hole.

***

From her room, Bella watched him finish and skulk off to sulk as usual. She pulled out of his mind before he noticed her presence.

This was good. He didn’t know it, but this was all good. 

For the Dark Lord’s cause. 

For her task. 

And for him.

***

“Interesting indeed.” The Dark Lord finished viewing the boy’s memories Bellatrix had presented and left her mind.

Bellatrix swayed and swallowed down the nauseous feeling. The Dark Lord was not gentle with his Legilimency. It was part of his demonstration of dominance, to leave the recipient’s mind raw and violated. Bellatrix hurriedly put her mental shield back up.

“We are ready for the second phase,” he said in his reedy voice. “We will utilize Yaxley, Goyle, Avery, and yourself.”

“Not Malfoy, my Lord? The boy listens to him.”

“Precisely. Not Malfoy.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

***

The girl swallowed the last spurt of come and Snape released her head. A bit of semen clung to the corner of her mouth, reminding him of the little Gryffindor. He looked away.

It had been two days since Bella had invaded his mind. He spent the time knee-deep in hair pie but he still couldn’t fuck the incident away. 

His wet cock was still out when the door opened.

The devil he’d spoken of stood poised in the doorway, looking beautiful as ever. It was an aggressive beauty: high, chiseled cheekbones and a strong, sharp jawline. A visage to match the personage.

He scowled. “What?”

He didn’t bother to put his cock away, just let it stand still engorged straight up from his trousers. Defiant.

Bella canary-cat smiled at it. It stayed erect.

With her eyes back on his, she said, “Raid tonight. Better get your rest after…” She waved a lazy hand at the girl kneeling on the ground, eyes downcast.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Midnight, then.” 

The door closed.


	11. A Bit of Him

The raids were astonishingly easy for the boy. Snape was fast, habituated to be so quick on the draw after the Marauders that he was rarely caught unawares. His skill at nonverbal magic made him a prime sniper, and his light tread meant he was often first to be sent into a location as a scout.

He was no stranger to martial magic, not after the pivotal showdown against those four Gryffindor cowards that finally put an end to their crusade. It was that win that had drawn the attention of the Dark Lord, and had brought Snape into this new…family? Coven? Lucifer Den? 

They had tested his skills in the first week of his arrival at the Manor, when he himself wasn’t busy testing every position one could fuck a snatch in. When they saw what he could do with a wand—his actual wand—he was sent out on a raid almost at once. 

His spells were clean, elegant—even when being used for nefarious purposes. Perhaps _especially_ when being used for malevolent ends. 

As for the violence, if it affected Snape he did not show it. But Bella’s keen eye saw one thing that escaped the others’ notice in the melees: Snape never used the Killing Curse. At least not on a human.

He’d struck down a pair of snarling guard creatures outside a wizard warehouse so smoothly they didn’t even whine, and would have been mistaken for sleeping if one didn’t look carefully. Likewise, he didn’t hesitate to incapacitate an attacker, brutally at times. 

But she had never once heard him utter any of the Unforgivable Curses.

It’s not that the Death Eaters were in the habit of flinging the blessed trio about willy-nilly. But they were quite convenient in certain situations. Why stun when the problem could simply be eliminated?

Still, the Dark Lord hadn’t seemed concerned with this matter. He was patient, their Lord. A patience Bella had never once felt in her life. She wasn’t sure where this patience had come from; perhaps decades of slowly weaving together the threads of his immortal story.

He was nearly forty-three when she had met him, this legend of a wizard. At eighteen Bella was used to older men, felt an instant submission to them. 

The Dark Lord’s face was still human then, his handsomeness not diminished by the patches of mottling that had begun to desiccate his skin. He was tall, taller than most of the Death Eaters, and still had the arrogant smile that always turned Bella’s head.

She had been more than happy to open her legs for him, to take him in her mouth, to please him with her hands, her skin, her holes. It felt like an honor, a benediction when he blessed her with his presence, oiled her with his semen.

The Darkness that vibrated off him was so deep, so practiced, Bella felt that she could close her eyes and soak up everything she needed for a lifetime. He had been polite, almost charmingly so, composed like a snake coiled in seeming repose when in reality ready to strike. His voice was still its careful baritone, a sound like a Viking drum signaling doom across the seas. She missed that the most.

Snape had a voice like that.

Bella’s mood blackened at the errant thought. Yes, the boy had a deep voice. Yes, he had a precocious level of skill. 

Yes, the Dark Lord noticed all this.

Perhaps the Dark Lord saw a bit of himself.

Perhaps Bella should be worried for _her_self. 

The boy could easily usurp her position if she wasn’t careful. Yet…he could also prove useful if she _was _careful, if she played this well. If she could deliver a perfectly trained soldier—a _tool _for the Dark Lord, he would see that she was truly his best lieutenant: not only devoted, but trustworthy and capable enough to accomplish his means on his behalf.

Tonight’s raid would tell.


	12. The Raid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your Kudos and comments and favs have been so heartening - THANK YOU!

All had gone to plan perfectly—too perfectly. The raiding party had found the blood traitor in question and taken him into custody with a quick Imperius curse. His wife they left outside the house naked and gagged with her underpants in her mouth as a warning to the village. At this point they should have retreated. Snape had prepared to Disapparate.

Except the daughter Apparated back at that moment, wand drawn. Avery immediately disarmed and bound her with two quick spells.

“You’re too late, girl,” Yaxley sneered. “We’ll take your wand and be glad that’s all.”

“Let my da go! He did nothing,” she cried.

“Quiet!” Goyle slapped a silencing charm on her so hard her head was thrown back.

The daughter struggled even harder.

Bella’s voice floated casually over from the cistern she was leaning against. “If she’s so devoted to dear old Papa, why don’t we let her earn his freedom?”

Yaxley grinned. Even Goyle paused. Avery looked back and forth between them, waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah. Let the girl save the old man,” Yaxley said, hand creeping towards his groin.

Bella pushed off from the cistern and came towards them. “Let Snape do it.”

Snape froze. Then he forced his feet forward, hoping no one had noticed his hesitation.

This was not to plan. The house was supposed to be empty save for the target and his wife. They had chosen that particular night because the daughter was supposed to be in another County. 

Snape reached the daughter and tilted her chin up. She had typical Black Irish coloring,skin so pale it looked translucent in the moonlight. He wanted to ask her name, but Bella would be listening. Instead, he leaned into his Occlumency, what basic amount he had. 

“We haven’t got all night,” Yaxley barked.

Snape grasped the shoulders of her robe and tore, ripping it down from her body and dropping it to the dirt. She wore nothing underneath, her pert nipples standing high in the night air. She looked young and untouched, still rounding into womanhood. Clean and pure in every way including blood. 

With an impatient flick of his wand, Snape released the silencing charm. 

“You like to hear ‘em scream, eh?” Goyle grinned.

Snape ignored him. “How old are you, girl?” he asked the daughter.

She scowled. “What do you care—”

In a flash he took hold of her nipple and pinched.

“Ow!”

“How. Old. Are you?”

She glared daggers at him. “Sixteen,” she muttered.

Snape backed away from her as if disgusted. “Silence her and let her go. We should be on our way before others show up.”

Bella’s voice was tight. “What are you doing? Breed the little twat already.”

“I prefer my women to be out of toddlerhood.”

Bella stared at him, her mind pushing hard against his. He grit his teeth and leaned into the onslaught. He knew she was aware he was lying. She had seen the Gryffindor in his memory, had brought the slight and youthful Isidora to suck his cock, and she knew what he thought of his cherubic, underage witch.

“Is that so?” she said quietly. “There is nothing this witch’s young body does for you?”

Snape kept his breathing even, though he couldn’t hide the bulge in his fitted trousers. When he’d twisted her nipple, it was all he could do not to grab both pristine breasts in his hands, to maul them, to ravage her untarnished skin.

Bella laughed and he knew he’d been made. 

** *** **

He was raging hard. Bella not only saw it, but felt the desire pulsing from him as he tried to turn away from the girl. There wasn’t much difference between seventeen and sixteen, a mere year between of age and not. It certainly had made no difference to the older men who had taken their pleasure of Bella’s body in her youth.

But Snape had some strange, pretentious code. Pathetic.

“Either fuck the little minge or I will,” Yaxley snarled.

“No!” Bella said, “It has to be Snape.”

They turned to stare at her. She swore under her breath. She had misspoken. 

A cold look of triumph entered Snape’s expression. “Does it?” he said dangerously. “Or else…what?”

Before she could think of what to say, a shout came up by the low stone fence. Figures were jumping over the stile and running towards them. 

A flash of red light shot at them, then another from a different wand.

“Fuck!” Avery yelled, ducking behind a tree.

Goyle dropped the father he had been Imperiusing and Avery’s binding on the daughter disintegrated. In the ensuing commotion, no one noticed where they slipped off to.

Sparks of green shot from Death Eater wands, red ones returning from the strangers. More were arriving; in a moment they would be outnumbered.

Bella crouched behind the cistern once again, only to have it explode as a spell hit it, drenching her with a torrent of well water and spraying anyone in the vicinity. Feet from her, Avery slipped in the mud and tumbled down.

She was about to scramble out of the sludge when a green light flattened across the grass, knocking down two of the strangers. A tall figure in a dark robe continued striding forward, cutting a swath through the remaining attackers until they all lay still in the dirt, the only sound the heaving of the Death Eaters.

And a whimpering. The blood traitor lay stiffly on the grass, eyes open. His daughter hunched over him, touching his dead body with trembling hands. The Dark Lord looked calmly at Snape.

“Severus,” he said lightly, extending a hand as if to offer him a scone.

Snape swallowed. Bella saw his hand tremor as he grasped the handle of his wand. He began to raise it. His face fought between a steely look of determination, and one of terror. Bella shook her head. If the Dark Lord listened to the boy’s mind, or if he saw the trepidation in Snape’s wand hand, it would reflect badly on the both of them. She leapt forward without thinking.

“_Avada Kedavra!”_ she shouted.

The girl dropped like a sack of flour beside her father.


	13. The Punishing of Bellatrix Lestrange

The man was already gripping her ankles when she awoke.

Only the Dark Lord had the ability to enter her room without her awareness and for a moment, Bella’s hope lifted that he had come to her after so many months.

But the figure at the edge of her bed was not the Dark Lord. This man cut a striking silhouette in the moonlight, flowing silvery locks almost swirling of their own accord, body broad-chested and sculpted right down to the lines leading to his pelvis and a giant horse cock.

He flipped her swiftly onto her stomach

“Lucius, no—“

His body landed on hers, his chiseled arms pinning hers over her head. 

She was about to cast a curse when her master’s voice spoke from the shadowy corner.

“Bella. Still.”

She did. Whether it was of her own will or he had stilled her limbs, it was difficult to tell. She could feel his mind seeping into hers, the knife of his Legilimency inserting itself into her consciousness as, at the same time, Lucius’ cock slipped between her pussy lips.

As Malfoy fed himself into her cunt, the Dark Lord’s face emerged from the shadow, a pale orb seemingly suspended. He hovered over her face, his sickly Darkness creeping over her scalp and through every strand of her hair.

She no longer struggled, but Malfoy seemed to like holding her down, cribbing his knees up so that his thighs held her legs tightly together as he bottomed out uncomfortably in her cunt.

Bella felt the hairs of his legs against her bare skin. He was naked at least; she still held that status, she though wryly.

The Dark Lord leaned close to her face. She longed for him to keep drawing near, but he stopped inches away and said, “Does it feel good, Bella?”

Malfoy had started pumping, his legs still outside of hers, his large hand holding her wrists against the bed.

She had been with the Dark Lord long enough to know there was no use holding back the truth.

“Yes…and no, my Lord,” she whispered.

Despite the ache of his intrusion, it was a good position: an ideal one for Lucius, whose length reached the spot deep within that brought forth those back-of-the-throat moans. With her legs together like that, his unholy girth was emphasized. It was an obscene reminder that there was a cock sheathed in her, and she was being fucked by it, was growing wet around a dick that belonged to someone else, was fucking her baby sister’s betrothed.

“Then enjoy yourself, Bella. Enjoy yourself.”

Bella knew what he meant. As Lucius began fucking her with hard, forceful thrusts, she buried her head into the sheets and let his cock work her. For months she had waited vainly for her master, withholding her pleasure as she saved herself for his visit that never came. Now the Dark Lord wanted this of her and she would offer it to him. She would let her sister’s fiancé ram her to orgasm, and she would come on Malfoy’s massive cock.

But as her climax built and she felt the long-awaited peak, the Dark Lord seized her mind, binding her body so that it hung there on the brink of a crushing orgasm.

Malfoy brought a hand to the back of her head, pushing it with cruelty into the bed as he drilled her with a hateful force until suddenly he pushed all the way in, painfully against her cervix. The horse cock throbbed, pumping its load into her.

In her state, Bella could feel every spurt of his come washing her with semen. With a mocking growl, Lucius pulled roughly out of her and got off the bed.

The Dark Lord still held her in that acute, sensitive place as she heard the next man enter the room. The bed shifted as he got on it, gripping her hips and hoisting her onto her knees. Without ceremony, he forced the head of his cock between her pussy lips and pushed in. 

“Move your hips, bitch.” 

It was Yaxley. Bella felt the pressure of the Dark Lord’s mind increase and she pushed backwards. Like a whore, she fucked the cock behind her, sliding herself up and down to wank the large man off.

“Are you enjoying this as well, Bella?”

She knew there was only one answer. She nodded and kept bucking back. The Dark Lord had released the hold on her cunt, and she felt pressure building again. She worked faster, and Yaxley grunted.

“Work my cock, slut.”

She gave one last thrust and was about to have her orgasm when the Dark Lord invaded her mind again, holding the wave at bay.

“We mustn’t be greedy, Bella,” he said in his thin voice.

“Yeah, bitches _take_ the come,” Yaxley said. “Know your place.”

He pulled her hips high, leaving her face down against the bed and emptied himself. He too left and, once again, someone else took his place. It was an awkward fit, pushing at the wrong places. Avery.

It went the same for him, the Dark Lord commanding Bella to enjoy herself, arresting her mind and body before she could climax, the cock dumping its come into her pussy. She was so sensitive now it was painful, the frantic building with each new cock, then the frustration of the orgasm out of reach.

Goyle was last. Standard procedure: Malfoy, who received the host’s honor of first spoils, then all the men from the failed raid in order of rank. All except Snape.

When Goyle had finished fucking Bella, the Dark Lord had her kneel before him.

“Pleasure yourself,” he said.

As she rubbed furiously at her clit, the Dark Lord brought out his cock, pale and strangely shiny like a snake. He pointed his wand at it, and as she was about to crest again, he stopped her a final time. Tensed on the floor, her hand frozen between her legs, she knelt naked as the Dark Lord’s cock jerked, shooting ropey line after line of semen across her face and hair. She blinked when it hit her eyes, but quickly opened them again, knowing he wanted her to see. Her eyelashes dripped white and her signature pouted lips were coated.

His cold voice hung high over her. “Seeing as you favor Snape so much, when next you seek your pleasure it will only be with him.”

Like a ghost, he silently left the room, Bella kneeling by her own bed with semen pouring out of her onto the floor and cooling on her face.


	14. The Beating of Severus Snape

With every lash, his body jerked, pushing his cock into the mouth in front of him.

He heard something drip and he knew it was his own blood, though he couldn’t feel his back any longer. That was what the cocksucking was for: sharpening his senses to counteract the body’s natural defense to go numb and, in effect, prolong the pain. 

But he had long shut his mind to it. An hour into the punishment, Snape had at last gotten the Occlumency lesson he sought. 

Irony.

His body jerked again as the whip struck him.

“Apologies, my boy,” Lucius said behind him, as he sent the bullwhip zipping through the air again.

“Be…my…guest,” Snape eked out between his locked jaw.

He knew Malfoy loved it. It didn’t matter who was at the end of the whip, so long as he was swinging a length of braided leather, he was quite content. He should have been a stockman in the Outback. Perhaps when this was over, Snape could see about arranging for Transportation.

The girl pumped her hands rapidly on his shaft, swirling her tongue around his engorged head.

Malfoy sent the whip zinging.

At this point, the blowjob was more painful than the whipping, its intermittent pleasure too acute in contrast to the artless flogging against the pulpy strips that must be his back by now.

The cracking of the whip ceased into a sudden silence and Malfoy came around front to watch.

“Give him a good one, now,” he said to the girl on her knees. “He’s had quite a go of it.”

She tilted her head, angling Snape’s cock into her throat and bobbed so fast her hair was a blur as it flew over his cock. The adrenaline coursing through his body already had him poised on the edge, and as her fingers felt around his testicle, he strained against his handcuffs and prepared to release the terrible night into her throat.

“Ah, Severus.”

The thin, high voice cut through the air of the dungeon as a vise seemed to grab both his mind and his balls. It nearly brought tears to his eyes. His cock felt swollen beyond its capacity, his testicles aching as he hung frozen in his restraints.

“What high hopes for you we had. Such a vouchsafe from Lucius. Glowing reviews from your colleagues.”

The Dark Lord didn’t bother coming into the dungeon. From the doorway he said, “Perhaps their plaudits were premature. Your judgment hasty, Lucius.”

Malfoy stood in the corner, head bowed, bullwhip hanging meekly between his hands like the limp tail of a dog.

“But only I can take responsibility for this…gross miscalculation of your abilities. You simply…are not ready. How fortunate that you have such giving, sacrificial peers about you. Who would you be without them?”

The Dark Lord was suddenly in front of Snape, his pale face inches away.

“Nobody.” 

The word hung in the air. The Dark Lord’s cold eyes held nothing in them. “Never forget what you are, half-blood.”

He swept away. From the doorway he said, “Pleasure is a privilege. When next you seek it, only Lestrange will provide it. _Only_—if she gains it from you. After all, good deeds must be repaid.”


	15. Cream, Darling?

Bellatrix stiffened as the hand touched her leg, the fingers gathering the fabric of her skirt until it was pulled up over her thigh.

Next to her, the corner of Malfoy’s lips curved as he continued to spoon clotted cream onto his crumpet. The berk had some nerve. Cissy sat on the other side of him, nattering on about the wedding, which had finally been set for the month following.

Sometimes Bella was sure her sister knew exactly what kind of man Malfoy was, and was willfully Occluding herself from her own knowledge. Narcissa had always dreamed herself the lady of a grand manor, and there was none more opulent in the Wizarding world than the one they were all having breakfast in at the moment.

Yaxley, Avery, Goyle—every cock that had come inside her last night sat across from them. Each Death Eater had given her a bright, leering smile as he took his place around her, bowing to the two Black sisters with cloying exaggeration. Cissy giggled demurely behind the stupid fan she’d taken to carrying, as if this were all expected for the future queen of witches.

All but Snape. Once again he was the only absent member of the failed raid.

The seat on Bella’s other side was empty and, for a moment, she wondered if it were meant for Snape. Her exposed leg was uncomfortably cold as Malfoy, now touching her bare skin, smoothed his hand up her leg until he brushed against the hairs of her vulva.

Bella fought the urge to curse his fingers right off him. She knew the Dark Lord was observing, even if he were nowhere to be seen. When he disciplined a follower, he kept careful watch on them until the punishment was complete. Only once had a Death Eater attempted to defy his punishment. She had watched the house elves mop up the remains, and even she with the iron stomach had been rendered queasy.

Under the table, Malfoy’s hand probed between her lips, then plunged in three fingers with a quick motion, as if clutching the head of his cane. Bella jumped slightly, and the three men across the table sniggered.

Malfoy’s fingers made a rough scooping motion. He was gathering the remainder of the come he and the others had left in her pussy. The Dark Lord had ensured a good deal stayed inside her, and Bella was trained to know she was not to wash herself until given permission.

“Cream, darling?” Malfoy said to Cissy. 

“You’re so thoughtful, my love,” Cissy purred.

“Anything for my duchess.” Malfoy’s free hand lifted the spoon and, with a sickening splat, dropped a dollop of clotted cream onto his fiancee’s crumpet.

As the blonde took a delicate nibble, cream sticking to her top lip, Malfoy pulled suddenly out of Bella’s cunt.

“Rodolphus, my good man,” Malfoy exclaimed.

Bella steeled herself. Of course the Dark Lord had invited—summoned, as it were—her husband to breakfast this morning.

Malfoy rose and, reaching with the hand recent from its adventure, clapped Lestrange on the back of her husband’s freshly pressed coat with a hearty squelch.

“So pleased you’ve joined us,” Lucius said. “You’ve been scarce of late.”

“Family business abroad,” Rodolphus said with importance.

Bella rolled her eyes. He tried to pass his family off as having Parisian roots, when everyone knew his branch of the Lestranges were Louisiana Creole. ‘Abroad’ referred to the States, and not a respectable city but the backwater swamps where they chased after ordinary vermin for sport.

“Hello, wife,” Rodolphus said as he seated himself in the empty chair next to her.

Bella pecked at the air near his cheek. “Good trip?”

“Divine as usual,” he said, pulling a sausage onto his plate. 

“Staying a while?”

“Back for some time, yes. You’ll join me at the estate, then?”

The estate, another of her husband’s euphemisms of grandeur. It was a large enough dwelling, but with the Dark Lord constantly sending Rodolphus Stateside to do his American bidding, the drafty residence had fallen into a state of disrepair, with its lone house elf grown round and lazy. Even Kreacher, her cousin’s elf, treated Bella with greater deference than her own did.

“We shall see,” Bella said airily. “Wherever the Dark Lord requires me to be.”

“I shall miss you terribly,” her husband said with equal nonchalance. “Perhaps I’ll pay your chambers a visit tonight before I set off.”

“Do.” Bella would have to find a way to entertain Rodolphus. Perhaps Isidora could be rustled up to substitute. Bellatrix performed her conjugal obligations quite dutifully, but she was afraid the Dark Lord would make her carry these men’s seed in her into the evening. Only a complete twit would fail to notice the amount of baby batter inside her snatch; though with any luck Lucius had removed the great lot of it and Rodolphus was now wearing it on the back of his coat in the shape of Malfoy’s large, wicked handprint.


	16. Back to School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which diehard fans meet a familiar name...

Sitting in the largely deserted Hog’s Head Inn, Snape tipped the mug back only to find it was empty. He shifted gingerly on the rickety wooden chair. The Dark Lord had left Snape’s lash wounds open and oozing for a full day before finally allowing him to take Wiggenweld potion. 

Snape would have liked to brew his own, more effective concoction, but the Dark Lord had only let him use what was in the Malfoy Manor stores. By the taste, he could tell it was an old brew, made in large, commercial batches. A fortnight later and the regrown skin was still an angry red, so crepe-y it felt as if any sudden movement would tear the wounds open again. 

He had no desire to make sudden movements; the injuries were excruciatingly tender and he grit his teeth when buttoning his waistcoat in the mornings. He had tried _Vulnera Sanentur_ on himself, but he couldn’t reach most of the wounds and he didn’t bother asking anyone else to perform the incantation. The rules had been made clear two months ago when he joined; no Death Eater was to interfere in another’s punishment, lest they suffer the same consequence.

There was a marked absence of Dittany Essence in the Manor stores. As a result, Death Eaters wore their scars with a sense of resigned pride, turning another of the Dark Lord’s rules into a game of one-upmanship. Lucius and Bellatrix were the only ones who didn’t sport a criss-cross of ropey lines on various body parts. The others grumbled that the Dark Lord favored the two of them, but if he did, Snape knew it was because they were not only unfailingly loyal, but the most skilled.

He glowered at the empty beer mug at the thought of Bella. He wanted to blame her. But he knew this was his own undoing. He had hesitated when the Dark Lord bid him perform the Killing Curse, and Bella had seen. She was protecting both their interests, and he hated her for it, for having to compensate his weakness, and he hated himself for the position he was now in. 

What bothered him wasn’t so much the Dark Lord’s stricture on sexual pleasure that could be broken only by coupling with Bella—that was minor, and Snape could forbear as long as he had to. But what rankled him was losing his good standing: the two months of training, and raids, and discipline he’d shown, all wiped in a single moment’s hesitation.

He slapped four Sickles down next to the mug as he rose from the table. It was more than the four pints were worth, but he didn’t care. He had grown up with barely the clothes on his back; his father drinking his pay away and the Princes leaving their daughter with nothing after she married a Muggle. 

Now he had a bit—his payouts from the raids, which he hoarded without thought. What did he care to spend it on? His room and board were taken care of at the Manor, and he was perfectly fine in the same clothes he’d worn for the past year. He supposed he could purchase Essence of Dittany, but he was sure it would be confiscated the moment he tried to enter the Manor with it.

No matter. He had endured pain his whole life. Pain _was _his life; there would be no other way. 

He knew that now.

The sun had set when he left the Inn. As he made his way towards the High Street, he had the sudden urge to see it. The castle.

When he’d Apparated to Hogsmeade thirty minutes ago, he’d told himself that was as close as he would get to the school. But now he wanted to see it, just the tip of a tower, perhaps. The alcohol he had downed in quick succession agreed it was a fine idea.

He would take the far route around the Black Lake, and glimpse the school from the other side of the water, near the station. He had gone a ways down the road when he heard a distant rumble. It took his hops-addled mind a second longer than it typically would have for him to understand.

It was the first of September.

He had just barely ducked into a copse of trees by the side of the road before the first thestral appeared. The carriages thundered by, churning up so much dust it would have hid him from view anyway. Snape swirled his wand around him, hurriedly creating a bubble of clear air, but not before inhaling a lungful of the dry dust.

Within minutes the procession had passed, the last carriage squeaking around the bend. Coughing, Snape stepped back out onto the road when a rustling sounded behind him. He whirled, wand pointed.

A blonde girl with a schoolbag jumped back. Green-piped robes. He lowered his wand.

“You’re headed in the wrong direction,” he said.

“I’ve decided not to go,” she said with the insouciant air of a Slytherin.

“Suit yourself.” He turned to go.

“Are you Severus Snape?”

He stopped, then turned back slowly.

“You are.” A keen look came into her eyes. “I’ve seen you in the Common Room.”

“It’s bound to have happened,” he said drily.

“What are you doing lurking in the shadows?”

“I’m not—” He stifled his irritation and shoved his wand back into his waistcoat. “I was heading off.”

“Wait.” She took a few steps forward. “I’ll go with you.”

He gave a derisive huff. “Run along, girl.”

“I’m not a girl. I’m a sixth year.” She walked right up to him. “As if you’re so grown.” Her words were punctuated by the fact that she was nearly of a height to him.

She lowered her voice. “You’re a Death Eater now, aren’t you?”

Her brown eyes searched his face with interest in a way girls hadn’t done when he’d still been at school. It was shocking what a few months time could do. Her scent wafted to him, expensive perfume and that milky, pampered smell Cissy and the other pure-blood girls always had.

“I’ll walk you as far as Hogsmeade,” he said at last, “and you can decide what you want to do with yourself then.”

A saucy smile played at her lips. “That will depend on what _you_ want to do with myself then.” When he scowled, she sighed. “Are you always such a serious geezer? No wonder the Dark Lord favors you.”

He looked at her sharply. “Who told you that?” He narrowed his eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Rowle,” she said with a proud tilt of her nose. “Euphemia Rowle.”


	17. The Taking of Euphemia Rowle

“You’re Thorfinn’s little cousin.”

“Not _so _little,” she said, strolling next to him on the road. Her arm brushed against his with an overt linger. Snape wondered what Thorfinn would say if he saw his little cousin playing the coquette with Snape.

What Euphemia’s cousin lacked in brains, he made up for in size. Though Thorfinn had joined the Death Eaters straight out of Hogwarts five years ago, he was not often invited to the Dark Lord’s roundtables, a fact he brought up increasingly as Snape had already attended several.

“What’s he like?” Euphemia asked. 

“Your cousin? Not much changed, I’m afraid. It’s likely a permanent affliction.”

Euphemia rolled her eyes. “So you _do _fool about,” she said. “The Dark Lord, obviously. Is he quite fearsome?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t truly want the answers to.”

“Oh but I do. I’m betting he’s a total melt. That snake he keeps as a pet is actually a kitten, isn’t it?”

Snape grabbed her arm with a roughness that made her give an indignant cry. “Watch your tongue, girl. Don’t ever think you’re above reproach because of who your family is.”

“My, my.” She looked down at his hand still gripping her arm. “Could it be _all_ the tales of you are true?”

With a look of pronounced defiance, Euphemia placed a hand onto Snape’s groin. His cock, trained after two months of at the Manor and given no exercise for the last two weeks, leapt eagerly to attention.

Anger flashed in his eyes and, for a moment, it looked as though he might throw her hand off him. Instead, using the hand on her arm, he propelled her off the road into the treeline. 

“Don’t be so stupid, there are eyes all over these grounds,” he said, even as he pushed her against the trunk of a tree.

Their lips met, his hips grinding against hers, until her hands went over his shoulders and he reeled back in pain. She mistook his grimace, her hands going to his trousers. Already he could feel the dull ache of his inability to release under the Dark Lord’s curse.

He pulled her hands off him. 

“How old are you?” Even as he asked, he knew it was futile. Unless today was her birthday, she would only be sixteen.

When she confirmed this, he brought his hands to her breasts, biding time as he fought with himself. He was no longer addled by the alcohol, though that had gone a long way in why he hadn’t just Disapparated as soon as he saw her. 

It was stupid. She was the same age as the blood traitor’s daughter he had refused to fuck. Just over two years younger than he was. Euphemia lived in the same House while he was here, for chrissakes. He wasn’t sure why he had had such qualms against fucking the girl that night at the raid. Perhaps it was because of the circumstance. Perhaps he was tired of being no better than a bull put to stud. Whatever the case, he had rebelled, to his great detriment.

He no longer had such compunction now. There was no way he would mate with this witch—no way his cock would make an appearance in any situation until he could resolve the Dark Lord’s curse. But there were other things he could control.

Turning her around, he put her up against the tree again and yanked her cloak off, dropping it into the dirt. He reached under her skirt and tore her stockings. Just as he suspected, her slowed breath revealed her arousal. 

He spit on his hand and shoved it between her legs, rubbing around her clit only a few times before sliding two fingers roughly into her snatch. She gasped but he didn’t give her time to acclimate before he began thrusting. Though she whimpered, the excitement roiled off her in such forceful waves he didn’t need Legilimency to feel them. It kept him painfully hard.

This would be an easy one. Haughty purebloods like Euphemia always wanted to feel overpowered, as if they simply had no control over what these brutes wanted to do to them. When one has been privileged for so long, nothing can satisfy more than being put in one’s place. 

With his other hand pressed against her back, he kept up the unrelenting pace, giving her the feeling of being taken against her will. Soon his fingers felt slick inside her and he added another. He leaned in to her ear and began speaking to her, making sure only his hot breath touched her neck and nothing else. 

“You asked for this.”

“Dirty fuckslut.”

“Whore yourself to me.”

She didn’t need much. Just a few words to goad her along. He could see from the way her eyes rolled back as she leaned her cheek against the rough bark that she was playing at some schoolgirl defiance, and this is what she needed to complete that game.

He grabbed her hand and put it on on her clit. She automatically began to rub.

“Let me tell you what is going to happen. You’re going to come like the mindless whore you are, and I’m going to leave you here by yourself, soiled and used, when I am done with you.”

And there it went. The buck of her hips, that opening from inside, and she began shaking so that he hooked his free arm around her waist to hold her up so she could give in to her orgasm.

Ignoring the burning from the healing skin being stretched across his back, he saw her through her spasms until she subsided into small aftershocks. Then, making sure she had gained her legs again, he pulled his fingers from her cunt and, true to his word, stepped back and Disapparated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the last we'll see of her...origin stories all around!


	18. Stag Do—or Don’t

The muffled tinkling of a glass shattering punctuated the air, followed by laughter. The party was spreading throughout the house and would soon be unavoidable.

Snape fastened the last button on the stiff collar of his new coat and shut the door to his room, locking it behind him with a twist of his wand. He'd grumbled when Lucius had called him into Malfoy's suite on the third floor and ordered Snape up onto the tailor's block.

"No one will even see what I'm wearing under the dress robes," Snape had protested.

"Nonsense," Lucius said. "Narcissa would have my hide if you stood for me at the wedding in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat. We should see about a new pair of boots, while we're at it."

Snape had managed to escape a fitting with the cobbler as well, but he had to admit that the new coat had been a good idea now as he stepped out into the chilly autumn night.

At first, Snape hadn't been sure why Lucius was even having a stag weekend—marriage may make it more difficult with Narcissa on premises but it surely wouldn't put paid to Malfoy's extracurriculars. But as the guests filtered in, the reason became apparent.

Every single one of them were pure-blood, most from the Sacred Twenty-eight. It seemed every witch of age with an esteemed surname had come to Malfoy Manor for the handsome heir's last hurrah. There were even couples arriving, tossing their fur stoles to the harried house elves, who popped in and out of the foyer with goblets of champagne and trays of canapés.

Two witches were coming up the path now, looking so fresh-faced they might have snuck out of Hogwarts for the night. When they passed Snape on the steps, the one nearest sent an arch look over her shoulder before turning to her friend. As they entered the house, Snape heard her whisper, "Euphemia." The other girl glanced back with widened eyes. Their giggles faded as the door closed again. So they _were_ Hogwarts students.

By the gate, he passed another guest, a lone witch Rodolphus' age with striking features and a tumble of dark hair. Seraphina Lestrange—no, Flint, now.

"Madame Flint," Snape said, inclining his head.

"Don't be cheeky, Severus, you'll make a woman feel old."

"Never," he said, meaning it. His eyes drew to the swell of her lips…he quickly asked, "Burgess indisposed tonight?"

"He's with Marcus."

Snape could feel the surprise show on his face. A pure-blood man playing nanny while the Missus went carousing in the night?

"Leaving already?" she asked. "What a shame this stag do has disappointed you. Surely there must be _some_thing to strike your fancy…"

Seraphina smiled and Snape felt himself warm. It was said she resembled her ancestor Leta, the famous beauty of the Lestrange family. How Seraphina could have married that ape-browed, hunkering Burgess Flint with teeth too big for his mouth was beyond Snape. Purebloods and their alliances.

He tore his gaze from her thickly-lashed brown eyes. It had been a month since the Dark Lord's curse, a month of his body waking every morning straining against his underpants, bollocks aching and tender when he bathed.

He had to get away from here, from _her, _before he followed this creature back into the house. He wasn't ready to die from exploding testicles just yet.

When Snape finally got clear of the gates, he Disapparated before anyone else could cross his path and remind him that he was missing what was likely his only opportunity to sink himself into every pure-blood pussy in Britain.

Snape appeared a moment later in the musty foyer at Spinner's End and strode into the dark parlor, dropping into the armchair without bothering to light a fire or remove his coat. It felt better to be buttoned up at the moment.

He hated this distraction. Snape had never lacked discipline, not in class, not in his daily routine—rising with the dawn even after an orgy night. So to have his own flesh drawing his attention away from his work with the Death Eaters was beyond irksome.

There was a straightaway solution to this. Do what the Dark Lord commanded. Go to Bellatrix. So why hadn't he?

He knew the reasons. They tasted sourly for his tongue to admit.

He was afraid.

That she would reject him.

He could force himself on her, but that was chancy, given what a powerful fighter she was. And that wasn't the command, was it? In order to gain his pleasure again, she had to gain hers.

That was the real fear he hated to acknowledge: that he might not know how to please her.

He brought his finger to his upper lip, subconsciously tracing it as the vague edges of an idea began to coalesce in his mind.


	19. Hens on the Town

In the bridal party’s private room at the Sheepshire Tavern, Cissy had gone past the point of cheerfully sloshed to pissed and tiresome. 

“What do you think he’s got up to tonight, Bella?” she asked her sister yet again.

Bella knew exactly what—who, rather—he was up tonight. She had helped Malfoy compose the guest list and even aided him in setting the evening’s menu, though she had drawn the line at choosing the service patterns. It had already been a stretch for her to play these hostess niceties. She knew he had asked her because of her sex. It didn’t matter how fierce a Death Eater she was, Malfoy would always see her as a female first.

While all the Death Eaters were traditional men, Lucius came from a particularly long line of patriarchs so manly they all miraculously birthed only sons. Curious, really, but don’t bother asking about it. Bella knew if Narcissa were to conceive a girl, she would likely find herself with a tragic miscarriage.

“Should we pay them a visit?” Narcissa continued, “Do you think? Oh let’s. I need to know what he’s got up to. I can’t bear it!”

“Cissy, look at me. Won’t you calm yourself?” Bella waited for her sister to look into her eyes, but Narcissa only swatted ineffectively in Bella’s direction.

“You’re going to try to influence me, I know what you’re doing!” Cissy pouted and reached for the full tankard that Alecto had unwisely placed in front of her. It sloshed as Narcissa attempted to draw it closer and the blonde pulled her wet hands back with a whine.

Bella took her wand out and dried her sister’s sleeves with a resigned swipe. There was a handful of witches at the table around them, mostly classmates from Narcissa’s year who were loyal to her. Bella knew the number of Slytherin women at the Manor right now would be greater. 

Although come to think of it, she was rather certain she had seen that witch sitting at the end of the table on all fours on Malfoy’s bed when she was just a fourth-year. What Cissy didn’t know wouldn’t harm her.

Bella stood. “Narcissa you’re tired,” she announced. “You really should rest before tomorrow. You’ll want to look your best, won’t you? After all, it is the biggest day of your life.”

The words were stronger than a Pepperup Potion. Cissy shot to her feet, then swayed dangerously. Bella motioned to Alecto, who ducked under Narcissa’s arm and together, they near carried her down the wooden stairs to the farewells of the other witches. 

It had been a long evening that began with a beautification salon at a classmate’s parlor in Wales, then a supper all the way in the bloody Hebrides at another’s estate, before the party finally Apparated back down to Charing Cross. Bella was tired of smiling at these harpies, and she thought the hairstyle they’d made her try looked like a wet otter had come to burrow upon her head.

She and Alecto eased Cissy out of the pub onto Diagon Alley and arranged her floppy limbs so they could side-along her back to the Black house where Cissy would spend her last maiden night. Bella was glad they had chosen this more out-of-the-way tavern on the crossroad of Knockturn Alley. Lucius would be peeved if word spread of his betrothed behaving sloppily in public. Appearances were everything.

At that moment a faint swoosh sounded on the adjacent street. Bella glanced into Knockturn Alley to see a tall figure swirl into appearance. Something about the cut of his broad shoulders, the length of his casual stride were familiar. The figure reached the end of the dark street and turned the corner.

Bella turned to Alecto. “You take her. I need to investigate something here.” 

Alecto frowned, but she didn’t dare question. Even under punishment, Bellatrix was still the Dark Lord’s favoured one. The short woman struggled under Cissy’s weight, and Disapparated.

Alone now, Bella slipped into Knockturn Alley. The click of her boot heels on the pavement echoed as she was swallowed up by the dark.

* * *

The hand wrapped itself in Bella’s curls and pulled her head back with almost dancer-like precision. She exhaled in unison, as the body hovered right up to her back, close enough to feel its warmth but not quite touching her. 

The voice came from above her head. “Lost, little girl?”

Bella had been tall since puberty, the first of her sisters to shoot up, thin until she finally filled out. She’d towered over wizards for years until the lot finally caught up in the latter years of Hogwarts, as boys do. 

Still, she’d never been the kind of little girl boys seemed to like. She was always too hard for the boys at school, who saw her as a formidable opponent in class and a witch whose powers could be respected. But never a girl to be chased. 

Cissy ended up just a hair shy of Bella’s five-foot-nine, yet she had the delicate, babydoll quality that made her seem small in comparison. From the moment Lucius saw her pert nose, her slim frame like some water nymph, and her girlish laughter, he gunned hard for her. It was clear from the time she was 12-years-old that he would possess her one day. 

Even that dratted Snape loved the tiny girls, picking out the pixies at the orgies, going stiff at the sight of an exotic waif. It had been a month and the Dark Lord’s little darling still hadn’t come to break the curse. The boy was probably scared.

Unlike the man gripping her hair like he would a dog lead, with casual command. He made her feel soft, pliable. He had since the day he met her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus begins the run of chapters on our leading lady's backstory - enjoy!


	20. The Lestrange Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Her one true love...

** England 1968 **

As soon as Bella Black came of age, her parents began discussions of suitable matches. She was finishing her sixth year at Hogwarts, and matrimony was quite far from her concerns. But as the eldest Black of her generation, she faced endless pressure from the family—including the ancestors in their portraits and a few ghosts who popped in with unsolicited opinions.

The list of bachelors was short. Bella scanned the parchment of eligible men from the Sacred Twenty-eight, immediately crossing off the younger boys. She was at school with the lot of them, and there was no way any would be palatable in the least. There was perhaps one, of course. Lucius would have been the wealthiest match, but the handsome fourth-year was already smitten with barely-pubescent Cissy. 

There were several second-cousins, and even a few first-cousins, all of which she struck off the list as well. Bella knew she would be expected to produce heirs, and Merlin forbid she ended up with some horse-toothed inbred brat. On that note, she removed Burgess Flint from the running. His teeth looked like the Little Hangleton graveyard, headstones piled atop another.

She was considering the merits of the Burke grandson, who was twenty years her senior, when her eye caught on Rodolphus’ name. She remembered him from school, a Slytherin in the outskirts of her social circle three years ahead of her. He had no distinguishing achievements; he hadn’t been a prefect, nor did he do spectacularly well on his O.W.L.s to warrant mention. But he had been committed to the Dark Lord’s cause and joined the Death Eaters immediately upon graduation.

And he was a Lestrange.

Their vault was one of the deepest and largest at Gringotts, and the family carried a long, pure-blood history spanning the Channel, and even across the pond.

“Bellatrix Lestrange.” She sounded the name out. It had a ring to it she didn’t dislike.

The boy himself had been taller than her, over six feet before he left school, and broad enough that he didn’t look about to collapse under a light jinx, which was always a bonus. His dark hair and eyes would be a complement to her own.

Indeed, this could be a decent pairing yet.

As soon as she sent an owl home, both sets of parents began formalizing the alliance through a series of closed-door meetings that were sure to resemble business negotiations. By the time the proceedings concluded to the satisfaction of both parties, Bella had begun her final year at Hogwarts and was consumed with the run-up to her N.E.W.T.s. Rodolphus had been sent abroad to monitor his family’s interests in the States. The couple would have to wait to re-meet.

Bella had been officially betrothed to Rodolphus for four months before the two families gathered for their presentation to pure-blood society. On the eve of the New Year, the Lestranges threw a grand soiree at the estate.

Cissy and Andy had left to mingle, leaving Bella alone in the stuffy guest room with an odd apprehension creeping upon her. She’d always known what was expected of her, but now that the time had come, she wasn’t sure she was ready.

A knock startled her. 

“Yes,” she called. It must be Rodolphus, come to retrieve her.

The door handle turned and into the room stepped a tall…boy was the only way to describe him. He had a wild mane of brown hair to rival hers, barely kept back by the velvet ribbon. He was so young only a smattering of stubble had begun to grow over his lip and chin, which he’d left unshaven, so uncouth for this occasion. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted about him and his fingers twitched as if he craved one even now. 

His eyes met hers and stole the breath right out of her.

* * *

As soon as his gaze came to rest upon her, Rabastan knew this was a mistake. He wanted to turn and run out of the room, crawl to his brother like a mongrel on his belly and tell Dolph not to go through with it.

Bella Black was stunning. Those eyes like the bottom of the Black Sea, her lids hooded deeply as if shielding the mysteries of the centuries. That shock of hair rippling down her back as glorious as a war banner. 

She had stood quickly when he’d entered, rising statuesque like a night queen, straight-backed and sharp-edged. Even those harsh lines only added to the heartbreaking beauty, her angular jaw displaying that prominent mouth, with those lips that were made for…

He shook himself. Not a minute in the presence of his brother’s intended and he was already picturing her wrapped around his body parts. Rabastan shifted, feeling himself starting to tent his trousers. He’d been an early bloomer, growing hair below and producing semen shortly after the four-years-older Dolph. Now at sixteen, it had only gotten worse. He’d fucked his first snatch over two years ago, and he couldn’t seem to get enough. While Rodolphus was measured and “gentlemanly” about his pursuits, positively old-fashioned in his moderation, Rabastan fucked like it was a sport and he, the prize fighter.

But this creature, she was something else. A siren he would scrabble across a wasteland of bare rock to get close to, who would surely drag him into the undertow once he was there.

He gathered himself, drawing up to his full height, gathering confidence at the way her eyes followed his frame, tall already for a boy. 

“Rabastan Lestrange,” he said, and bowed with all the breeding expected of him. Let her see his rough side later. 

“I wasn’t aware the other son was grown,” the siren said. Even her voice was alluring, like the echo from a cave full of danger and secrets.

It drew him to her, stepping closer until his imposing height loomed over her. He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “I’m the feral one they keep chained in the basement.” He let her hand go.

“Are you not Slytherin?”

“In a sense.”

“Why have I not seen you?”

“Durmstrang. We’re all Slytherin.”

She appraised him. “I suppose I’m to call you brother.”

“Call me whatever pleases you,” he said daringly. Rabastan had never given a rat about what others thought, rousing the kind of trouble that had gotten him sent away instead of to Hogwarts. 

The dark horse of the family.

Still, this was risky behaviour, even for him. The Black-Lestrange alliance had been carefully planned, and if he cocked this up in any way it would affect more than this branch of the family. More importantly, it would disappoint Dolph.

But her cruelly beautiful mouth only quirked, sending his hot-blooded thoughts racing again. 

“Your audience awaits you,” he said, gesturing to the door. 

The creature slipped her wand into some hidden sheath in her skirts and tilted her chin. 

“Am I presentable, then?”

Rabastan looked down at this luminous witch, radiating power and defiance from a body he wanted to ravage to the ground. He lifted his hand and, slowly, traced the outline of her bottom lip, wiping a nonexistent smudge.

“You’re perfect,” he said, and opened the door.


	21. Otherwise Engaged

** Lestrange Estate, 31 December 1968 **

Rabastan led Bella to the vestibule of the ballroom, where his immediate family waited. Ursula Lestrange kissed the air near her future daughter-in-law’s cheek while Aelric nodded his patrician approval. 

At last, she was presented to the man she would marry.

Rodolphus bowed, kissed her hand, did the same dance of nobility as his younger brother had done. His smile showed straight teeth, thank goodness.

He was twenty, and could grow a full beard, his hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck with a black velvet ribbon that matched the rich fabric of his dinner jacket. She was pleased to see he was as she remembered, six-foot-one, broad of shoulder. The beard helped to hide the roughened skin that had fallen victim to too many bouts of acne as a teen. Now, with some years on him, it gave him a roguish look.

All this should have been dandy. Yet it was not.

“Bellatrix,” he said, “it has been far too long. You’ve grown only the more beautiful.”

His voice was not as deep as a man his stature should possess, and this mismatch was made more evident by a most odd way in which he held himself, as if uncomfortable in his clothes.

Bella hoped this feeling would fade once he grew accustomed to her company, but it persisted as they made their debut into the ballroom and commenced their first round of dances. Although his smile was guileless as ever, as were the pleased looks he gave his bride-to-be, there remained a discomfiture about him. Not as if he were hiding anything—quite the opposite. As if something were missing. It took several dances before Bella could name it. 

Ambition.

Although he performed the steps with accuracy, there was a lack of drive, of a vitality that every Slytherin usually had. He was attentive to her in a rote, obedient way, as a well-trained pet who took pleasure in obeying its commands. It left Bella with an empty feeling every time his sweaty hamhock hand met hers, and she was glad when the final quadrille was over. 

“Have you been shown the grounds?” he asked as he led her off the floor on his arm. 

“Not as yet.” Bella glanced around for one of her sisters.

“Perhaps a bit of air is in order, then.” 

“Oh it’s much too dark now,” Bella demurred. Where were her blasted sisters?

“You’re probably right,” Rodolphus said. This agreeableness, Bella would discover, would eventually develop into a passivity that divested her of even the pretense of respect for him. And she would not be the only one.

“You really do look ravishing tonight.” He smiled down at her again. 

“You’re too kind. My sisters deserve the credit. Speaking of which, I promised I’d find them. Andromeda was never one for social functions.”

His amenability was to her advantage this time as he gamely took his leave. Bella watched him approach two old aunts, who seemed overjoyed at his attentions. Free at last, she scanned the ballroom in earnest, convincing herself it was to seek her sisters. But in the secret part of her mind, it was another target she hoped to find.

After Rabastan had deposited her in the anteroom, he seemed to fade silently away. She couldn’t recall if he’d entered the ballroom at all.

Bella drifted to one of the French Doors that lined one end of the ballroom and slipped quietly out onto the grounds Rodolphus had wanted to show her. Topiaries cast hulking shadows across the manicured lawn, and it was easy to stay shielded by the tall hedge that ran along the dirt path. It was frigid, yet she found the cold exhilarating in comparison to the company she’d just endured.

It was so dim she was nearly upon the figure before he spoke. 

“Are you lost, little girl?”

She jumped. Bella was not easily startled; she prided herself on being aware of her surroundings at all times as a good duelist should be. 

Yet she had almost tripped over the long legs that stretched out from the boy sitting on a cast iron bench in the dark, as if it were a regular afternoon sunning.

“I’m exactly where I should be,” she said breezily.

There was just enough light for her to see his teeth appear and the conceit in his smile, before his arm shot forward and he grabbed her throat.

“I don’t think so. Because you’re still standing.”

He pulled until she lowered to her knees before him. 

“Still not there yet,” he said, keeping his hand around her throat. The gleam in his eye, so dominating for one so young, was all it took for her.

Bella reached forward and undid his trousers. She felt more than saw his cock as it hit heavy against her hand. Rabastan pulled her to him until her mouth found the head. Only then did he release his hand from her neck.

She was a brazen one; that had been her parents’ primary complaint. Although the eldest, Bella was the daughter who was unafraid to transgress propriety. She laughed too loud for a proper girl, climbed rocks in skirts, and never cried over a fall or a scrape.

Her parents had worried she wouldn’t choose a proper husband, but they needn’t have. Bella may be defiant, but she was also practical. The two were not mutually exclusive, as she was demonstrating now with Rabastan’s cock in her mouth.

She used a hand around his shaft, and he thrust in time. 

“I knew you weren’t a lady,” he said. “The second I saw your mouth, I knew my cock was meant to get in there.”

He reached down and felt her tits, slipping his fingers into her bodice and twisting her nipples. She moaned around his cock, from the pain that she would someday learn to associate with pleasure.

He grunted suddenly and went still as, for the first time, Rabastan Lestrange came in Bella’s mouth.

“Wait,” he said. On her knees, she looked up at him, mouth full of his come. “Now. Now you’re exactly where you should be.”

From the ballroom came the far-off sound of chimes.

“Swallow it,” Rabastan said.

She did, and as the ringing of the New Year faded, he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face to his, kissing her deeply on the mouth that had just serviced him.

In the years since, Bella had run over this memory many times. It seemed cruel that the Fates should show her this overgrown lad before she could even set eyes on her fiancé for the first time in three years. She wondered for years after what would have happened if Rabastan had not come back from Durmstrang that holiday. Perhaps she would have seen Rodolphus differently. Perhaps they would have become a real couple.

But she knew that would never have been. Rodolphus was as straightforward as a cloudless day, and Bella loved too much the danger of fog. 

Rabastan was wild and exciting, as breathless as standing at the top of a waterfall. It drew Bella in.

No one knew that she’d kept the dress from that night. It was ruined, of course, that lovely black gown with the purple piping. The satin wrinkled easily under Rabastan’s hard hand, tearing where she’d knelt upon the cold, hard ground. She’d loved that dress. Cissy had helped her pick the cloth, one of the last Bella had made that still bore bright flashes of colour, before the layers of black that was the Death Eater uniform. Bella had enjoyed wearing colour then.

Sometimes, with Rabastan, she still felt like that same girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my most emotional chapter about Bella. She's turning into as much a tragic figure as Severus.


	22. The Breaking of Euphemia Rowle - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The breaking of the curse is finally nigh! You might want to reread Chapters 16 and 17 to remember what (tall) little Euphemia got up to...

**Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor, 1978 (Present)**

Euphemia was more than eager when the owl from that Snape boy arrived in the Great Hall. She made an obvious show of reading it at breakfast with a scandalized look, until the other Slytherin girls badgered her about the contents. She shot them all a coy look and they knew immediately who it was from—she’d certainly bragged enough about her encounter against the tree on 1 September when she was missing from the thestral carriages.

As the letter commanded, she snuck away at the Hogsmeade outing the next day. Her mates called after her, “Remember, Slytherins swallow!”

Now she was kneeling naked on plush Malfoy manor carpeting, hoping to do just that. Without ceremony, Snape undid his trousers and revealed himself. She reeled back when she finally saw Snape’s cock, eyes going wide. But before she could remark on the pleasant surprise, he jammed it into her mouth.

She made a stifled noise as it slid over her tongue. Her hands came up and he knocked them down casually with a muttered spell. He grasped her chin with his long fingers, the same ones that had made her feel so heavenly against the tree, and began sliding his length in and out of her mouth as if it were a sleeve. It was all she could do to maintain her oxygen flow as he pumped ever deeper, until he reached her throat.

When she gagged, he leaned down and said silkily, “Oh yes. You can open your throat or you can keep making that sound. Either way, my cock is going in there.”

His words, spoken in that low voice, made her moan around the dick in her mouth. He looked down that strong nose at her with command and disdain that inflamed her pussy.

She did her best to open her throat, to take the facefucking, and she felt the thick girth slide into her esophagus. He rolled his hips, his rough coiled pubic hair brushing against her lips. The lessened air made her heady and she felt her nipples harden.

Suddenly a new voice spoke that made her throat constrict in surprise. Snape groaned as her throat squeezed his cock, his hips bucking inadvertently.

“Well you certainly won’t get anywhere with the curse,” said the voice. “Have you called me here to watch you torture yourself then? I do say, things get queerer in this house by the hour.”

Euphemia’s eyes rolled towards the speaker. Bellatrix Lestrange stood mere feet from them, statuesque and surprisingly beautiful. And as terrifying as her reputation.

When Euphemia turned to take in the fearsome witch, Snape’s cock slipped from her mouth, trailing a line of saliva down her chin. A wet smack of the member against her cheek brought her attention back.

Snape grasped his cock in his hand and lifted it so that his balls rested on her face. “Suck.”

She opened her mouth and received her first ball sack. As she tried to get as much of it into her mouth as she could, Snape conversed with the Lestrange witch as if Euphemia wasn’t even in the room.

“Not your usual type,” Bellatrix said.

“She’s for you.”

“This thing?” Bellatrix laughed.

Euphemia felt her draw near, then Bellatrix’s hand slipped into Euphemia’s hair, so carefully pressed and set for a date that was turning out to be vastly different from what she’d expected.

The cool fingers curled around her locks and Bellatrix yanked the young Slytherin’s head back, away from Snape’s balls, so that Euphemia was looking straight up into the Lestrange witch’s large, dark eyes. It was like looking into the eyes of night itself.

Snape took the opportunity to thrust his cock back into the girl’s mouth.

“You look familiar,” Bellatrix said. “What family are you?”

“Answer your mistress,” said Snape.

A minuscule smile played on Bellatrix’s lips when she heard that. Euphemia attempted to respond, making gargling noises around his dick.

“Quite pathetic,” Bellatrix remarked to Snape. Hand still in the girl’s hair, she casually moved Euphemia’s mouth up and down on Snape’s cock.

He couldn’t stop the moan from slipping out. “She’s young,” he said heavily.

“Is she?” Bellatrix yanked the girl abruptly up until only his bell-end was in her mouth. “What year are you, girl?”

“Sixth,” Euphemia said, her tongue lisping around the cock head. “Mistress,” she added after a look from both Death Eaters.

“Is that so?” Bellatrix said with a sudden fire in her eyes. She slammed the girl back down onto Snape’s cock.

He groaned as he entered her throat once again. With ferocity, Bellatrix pushed the blonde head repeatedly onto the rod, staring at Snape as she said, “So it seems your morals are suddenly no longer an issue. What excellent timing.” Her voice had grown thin as her anger rose.

“That’s why I brought her,” he grunted, struggling now as Bella jerked him off with the sixteen-year-old’s throat. “This is for you.”

Euphemia, eyes watering from the forceful throating, nonetheless swiveled her gaze up to watch the two Death Eaters. Snape looked at Bella meaningfully. Their eyes locked, and they seemed to be speaking, though no words were heard.

Legilimency. So it was true. One or both had the skill.

Suddenly the Lestrange witch released the girl’s hair. Euphemia fell backwards, gasping.

“Very well then,” Bellatrix snapped at him. “It’s about time you fixed your mess.”

Snape held a hand out to his bed, an almost courtly gesture.

“These linens better be freshly changed.” Bellatrix gave him a loathsome look, lifted her skirts and clambered aboard.


	23. The Breaking of Euphemia Rowle - Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 12-14 if you need a reminder of poor Snape and Bella's dilemma...and now our future potions meister enacts his plan

Snape thought he would feel some resistance in himself to carrying out his plan, but there was none at all. He didn’t care a wit for Euphemia.

The entire Rowle family was a disagreeable bunch. The wizards were hulking and brutish, with hardly enough brains amongst the lot to make up one whole. The witches were scornful of his kind, the half-bloods, and always out to knock even friends down the social ladder if it meant climbing one rung higher themselves.

He’d thought he felt the same derision towards Bella. He wanted to feel the same. But over these few weeks as the wounds from his whipping healed, he’d had a gnawing feeling, one he knew too well.

Guilt.

On that night of the raid, he’d been the one who’d hesitated, and though he bitterly wished she hadn’t stepped in, she had taken the brunt of their fall from grace. It was one thing to be whipped like a man; he had a high tolerance for pain in any case. But he had heard what happened to Bella, what each man from their raiding party had done to her.

He knew a thing or two about indignity.

Well, he was fixing this now.

Now Snape regarded Bella sitting against the headboard, propped by the pillows he’d prepared. She had pretended not to notice the carefully arranged nest, though she settled quite naturally amongst them like a queen. As she raised her knees and drew her legs apart, her skirts slid up her thigh, the cloth dipping teasingly over her center so that it remained a mysterious shadow.

Snape caught himself staring at that spot, and when he brought his eyes up, the cat-smile curled on her lips. He scowled and turned his attention to their plaything.

He snapped his fingers, a harsh fricative sound, and pointed to the place between Bella’s spread legs, draped with those black skirts. “In your place,” he said to the naked girl.

Affront flared in Euphemia’s eyes until she saw the look in Snape’s. She was no stranger to Dark Wizards, the very men of her family embodied this term, but she recoiled from him now.

Snape sneered. He could guess what she saw when she looked at him. A pain and poverty she had never known in her coddled upbringing. It sent her scrambling onto the bed.

Once the naked girl had knelt between Bella’s legs, Snape said, “Please your mistress.”

There was a pause. He could tell by the stuttered way she moved that she had never done this before. She had better be a fast learner.

Hesitantly, Euphemia drew back the curtain of skirts, and at last, exposed Bella’s pale thighs. They were strong, surprisingly athletic. They made a tantalizing contrast to the delicate lace of the black string knickers she wore. Snape stared again, not caring if she noticed this time.

Euphemia pulled Bella’s panties aside, using her fingertips as if she were handling something frightening. Snape rolled his eyes. He would have ripped the lace in two.

He watched in morbid fascination as Bella’s pussy lips were revealed, a line of wetness already between them.

Bella’s expression didn’t change as the girl dipped her head and tentatively began to lick, but Snape caught the shift in Bella’s hips. It hardened him again. He was ready.

Euphemia gasped when she felt him yank her hips up.

“You were not commanded to stop,” he said coldly.

When her tongue resumed, he lined his cock up to Euphemia’s pink gash and plunged in without warning. Euphemia cried out against Bella’s pussy.

This time, Bella moaned. So she had a taste for this kind of degradation as well. Snape smiled inwardly. This would work out for them.

He fucked the girl without touching her, letting her know without a doubt what her role was. Just a mouth and a hole.

The painful pressure built rapidly in his balls, the now familiar ache of the Dark Lord’s curse. He ignored it and, instead, watched Euphemia lapping at Bella’s cunt like a kitten tasting milk for the first time.

He’d seen this many times at the Manor, witches together with their mouths and fingers and fists and toys. But never like this.

Never her.

It was almost religious.

Bella’s dark mane spread across his pillows on either side of her like untamable waves against the slate gray of his bedding. The harshness of that angular jaw made her famously full lips look obscene as they reddened with arousal.

These lips curled now when she saw Snape staring. He met her eyes straight on this time, and before she could utter the mocking comment on the tip of her tongue, he leaned forward suddenly and put a hand against Euphemia’s hair. He pushed the girl’s face into Bella.

“Tongue out,” he commanded.

By the way Bella’s hips lifted, he assumed the girl had done as instructed. With a hand on the back of her head, he ground her face in a circular motion, forcing her tongue up Bella’s cunt. He supported himself with his other hand, leaning so far forward he could smell Bella’s pussy.

Sharp. Tart.

Dark.

The scent went straight to his head, spurring him on more than he would admit even under another whipping. He thrust into Euphemia’s pussy almost angrily, matching his strokes with the relentless rhythm he set for the girl’s head.

Bella swirled her hips in time, her hooded eyes giving nothing away as they worked the young Slytherin from both ends. Snape had expected Bella would be this way, difficult to read.

He had planned for this challenge as well.

Creeping his mind towards hers, he flicked the tendrils of his Legilimency at her head.

Perhaps Euphemia _was_ a fast learner, because it took Bella a second before her Occlumency flew into place.

Snape’s lips curled into a sneer. He yanked Euphemia's head back, pulling her tongue out of Bella's cunt. He positioned the girl’s lips against Bella's clit instead.

“Suck,” he instructed curtly. "As if your life depends upon it."

She did, and Bella’s wall of Occlumency slipped a millimeter. It was enough.

Instantly, he penetrated Bella's mind with a vision he had readied and practised for days.

In it, he grabbed the witch by the throat and slammed her face down onto a table. “Incarcerous,” he shouted in this vision, and ropes flew to her wrists, wrapping tightly around them.

Knowing he had only seconds before she would punt him from her mind, his vision self tore her black dress straight down the middle, leaving the edges to hang ragged around her like a gothic tablecloth. He kicked her legs apart roughly, drew his wand, and rapped it sharp against her pale rear twice. Then he replaced his wand, grabbed the smooth, round cheeks in his hands, and spread them.

At this point the vision paled, shaking at the edges, and Snape knew her Occlumency had returned. Time to bring in the wild card.

Just before she booted him entirely from her mind, he used his last shred of Legilimency.

Into the vision stepped a man, broad and tall. He strode to the table, reached a large hand into Bella's dark curls, and wrapped them around his fingers with equal measures of gruffness and tenderness.

The man tilted her head up to look at him, and said, "What have you gotten yourself into, little girl?"

Bella put her Occlumency down. The vision stilled.


	24. Vision Lestrange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! And now...the conclusion to our cursed tale.

**Rabastan**

Rabastan’s dark gaze burned into Bella’s. She was so beautiful, his wild little thing, so terrifying to most men but as malleable as putty in his own large hands.

He twisted the hand in her hair tighter. Her proud mouth parted, a sigh escaping.

"Is this why you would not give yourself to me in Knockturn, the night of your sister’s hen-do? Yes, young Severus told me all of it. You've gone and gotten yourself cursed, little girl.” He shook his head. "He shared this plan to put an end to the curse. Asked for my help. How could I say no? I was never one to leave a lady in distress.” He could only hold his serious face a second longer, before it broke into his dazzling smirk. "Who are we kidding? I've left every lady who’s crossed my path in distress." His expression sobered as he gazed down at her. "Except you."

"Where are you?" she asked quietly.

"Too far.” His eyes dimmed. "Too far to have saved you."

"I don't need saving," she said reflexively.

"But you do. You very much do." He knelt so their faces were even. “Because, you see, I want to feel your pussy coming all over my cock again."

For the first time, she looked almost pained. "Best of luck to you then, when you're not even here."

"No," he said sadly. "Not in the flesh. But that's never been where you and I make our life together. Do you not feel my residence in your mind?"

Her voice was a whisper, the confession only for him and not for Snape, who was standing so far at the edge of this vision she could scarcely feel his presence anymore. Her liquid eyes gazed into Rabastan’s as she answered, "Every day.”

He leaned in so close his lips nearly brushed hers. "As you do in mine."

For a moment, they stared into each other's eyes, brown into a Darker brown, fire and brimstone. This mental connection was so real they could feel each other's breath.

Then he stood abruptly and announced, "Then let's break this curse.” 

With a blink only possible in Legilimency, Rabastan’s cock was out of his trousers. "Open, Bella."

* * *

**Bellatrix**

Without thinking, Bella did as he told and he shoved his entire cock into her mouth. Was it their connection? Or the strength of the double Legilimency between Rabastan and Snape? Whatever the reason, this vision felt so undeniably real: the musk of him, the feel of the smooth skin sliding over her tongue, the thick head that jabbed into the back of her throat and brought tears to her eyes.

From the gagging, of course, she told herself. Not from the depth of what she felt for this man that no one could ever know.

Bella relaxed her throat so he could slip further into it, an automatic response to Rabastan. She had always felt her calmest whenever he was thrusting his cock into some part of her.

"Good girl.” A large hand came up to meet her cheek. His calloused palm was rough against it, the number of scrapes increased tenfold since she first met him as a boy all those years ago. She had no idea what sort of missions the Dark Lord sent him on that kept him away so many months of the year and brought him back with cuts and scratches all over his perpetually handsome face, but knowing her jealous Lord, Rabastan was most likely kept away from her on purpose.

But he was here now, mentally, wherever his body may be in the world, and he was touching her, fucking her mouth. As he told her all those years ago on New Year’s,  _ exactly where she should be. _

Her hooded lids began to close as she allowed herself to be swept into the rhythm of his cock, until suddenly thin fingers gripped her rear again. Her eyelids flew open.

The warm head of a cock nudged her pussy. Snape’s cock. 

She made a strangled, panicked sound around Rabastan’s cock.

Rabastan shushed her as if she were an anxious pet. "It isn't real, remember. Only in our minds.”

Bella felt her ire rise, but knew he was right. She forced herself not to struggle. As the cock behind her started to push in, she looked up at Rabastan, who had paused his facefucking.

"That's it, little girl," he said. "Just you and me."

Snape slid into place and, as if on cue—no, exactly on cue, Rabastan took hold of each side of Bella's head and began to fuck in earnest. 

Behind her, Snape's cock also drilled into her, the two wizards plunging into her holes in unison, the one in her pussy hitting a delicious spot over and over, the one in her mouth more dear to her than even the Dark Lord’s, though she would keep this fact a secret forever.

* * *

**Euphemia**

Outside the Legilimency-created vision in reality, Euphemia paused in her clit-sucking to regard Snape and Bella. The two Death Eaters had their eyes locked, and almost seemed to be in a trance. She had never witnessed a Legilimency so deep and prolonged.

Without taking his eyes off Bella, Snape hissed down at Euphemia, “Put two fingers into her cunt, and get your face back onto that button."

His cock was still inside her, and he gave it a shove as if in punctuation. Euphemia did not hesitate to comply.

Her fingers entered the surprisingly hot tunnel, curving instinctually, the way she liked to do to herself in the dorms with her bed curtains drawn. It was a feeling both familiar and foreign. There she worked for what felt like ages. Her lips were beginning to go numb, her face so slick all the way down her chin to her neck she couldn’t tell if it was Bellatrix’s wetness or her own saliva.

In this kneeling position, her neck felt like it would stay stuck like this forever. The only thing that kept her going was the relentless drilling of Snape’s cock into her pussy. It was not even pleasurable anymore, his length a little too deep from this angle. His thrusts bumped often into her cervix, making her wince against Bella’s clit.

But she felt she couldn't stop. She was not here for pleasure any longer, that much had been made clear. Not her own, at least.

The sixth-year Slytherin was here for Snape’s enjoyment. And that was suddenly a calling made higher by the presence of the famous witch.

_ The old hag _ , she thought.  _ This loose cunt’s probably had half the Death Eaters shoved up it. _

Euphemia couldn't be sure if it was jealousy she felt, a juvenile competition fueled by insecurity.

_ Why would a young bloke like Snape want to please this nasty, old twat? _

But he did. It appeared to capture his entire focus, Euphemia was loathe to admit. It seemed to be all he cared about, even more than his own cock, which fucked haphazardly into the teenager.

So, Euphemia continued to lap and suckle at Bella’s clit, her fingers continued to plough into her snatch, and she kept her young rear high in the air to receive Snape’s cock. If this was what got him off, then she would be nothing but sporting about it.

After all, this wasn't Hogwarts anymore. Maybe this was what adult sex was like. Perhaps this was a test to see if she was worthy, mature enough. She would prove to him that she was. Young and fresh, but willing and able. And he would realize she was the better choice.

At that moment, she felt Bella’s whole body seize, then clench around her fingers so hard she thought the witch’s pussy would break them.

“Stay there," Snape hissed, his own voice strangled.

She glued her mouth to Bella’s clit and sucked with all her might, her fingers never ceasing their steady rhythm. In her own pussy, however, Snape’s rhythm grew erratic, his breathing ragged. It made Euphemia enjoy the fucking again, to hear him take his pleasure of her.

_ That's right _ , she thought,  _ that ugly old witch can crawl back into the hole she came out of. He’ll never get enough of my pussy now. _

As she prepared to feel the flood, with a slick pop, Snape pulled out of her. A hand—his hand—came down hard against her head, pushing her jaw against Bella's pubic bone. Just as the witch began convulsing violently against her face and around her fingers, Euphemia felt the first wet drops splash against the back of her blonde head.

With so much stimulation, and with Bella’s pussy keeping a hold of her hand, she almost didn't feel the shock as she comprehended what was happening. Snape kept a tight grasp on her head as he grunted behind her, shot after shot of his come hitting her hair, so carefully styled this morning for what was to be a decidedly different day.

It wasn't until she felt him wipe his cock in her locks and back away, the pressure finally leaving her head, that she understood. 

Her hair. 

He hadn't even wanted to come inside her pussy. Nor her mouth. Or even on her face, her ass, anywhere, dammit. 

Her hair.

Like it was a rag he happened to grab in a hurry off the back of a chair, to be flung carelessly into the pile of dirty clothes when he was done with it.

Slowly, Euphemia sat up and looked at the witch and wizard who’d just had orgasms off her. Snape was already tucked into his trousers, his heaving chest the only giveaway that anything had happened. In front of her, Bellatrix still sat against the pillows with her legs splayed, the color high in her cheeks and emphasizing her sharp beauty all the more.

The two of them gave a barely perceptible nod to each other.

“Rabastan,” Snape murmured, "I remain in your debt."

"Goodbye," Bellatrix whispered.

Euphemia frowned. Who were they talking to? Had they been watched? She glanced around anxiously, feeling suddenly vulnerable and cold. Why had she come today?

The Slytherin girl looked to Snape, seeking some sort of reassurance. But he wouldn't even look at her. 

It was as if a mask had dropped onto his face, the absence of all expression more chilling than even a harsh word would be at this moment.

In desperation, she turned to the Lestrange witch. Bellatrix had similarly composed herself and was already moving off the bed, rising to her full height. When she saw Euphemia staring up at her, the corners of her mouth began to lift, until the famous cat smile appeared.

The two Dark wizards stood fully clothed at the side of the bed, looking down at the girl, naked and shivering as the sweat evaporated off her skin. Snape with a disgusted glance as if she were a vagrant on the street, even as his semen turned cold in the strands of her hair. Bella’s flush fading back into her icy paleness, with the smile of a woman used to being superior and was once again.

As she looked up at them, struggling to push down tears, Euphemia finally understood why they were called Death Eaters.


	25. Happy Endings for All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and they all lived happily ever after...
> 
> ::Bella cat-smile::

In his chambers, Lucius propped his feet wide upon the witch’s leather–corseted back as she knelt on all fours, placed his hands behind his head, and let out a contented sigh. Another witch with enormous udders hovered next to him, licking his nipples and giving them an occasional slap that made him grunt in angry pleasure. The third witch crouching between his legs bobbed diligently, her amber curls a bouncy blur as she sucked his soul right out of his cock.

It was good to be Lucius Malfoy.

He closed his eyes as his balls tightened. A sharp rap sounded against his door.

Eyes still closed, Lucius felt his face heat as his ire shot up. 

"It's my wedding day," he growled at the intruder.

"Strangely enough, your presence is required at it," came the dry reply.

Snape stood in the doorway with an expressionless face. He and Bellatrix were the only ones who remained unmoved by the Malfoy heir’s temper. Even fierce Dolohov was loath to provoke the blond tyrant.

When Lucius looked as if to ignore him, Snape added, "Narcissa has asked about you.” He didn't have to explicate in what state she’d been.

Heaving a great sigh, Lucius said, “Fine," and brought his shoes down from his human footstool. He snapped his fingers with a loud, practised crack, and the witches rearranged themselves.

The footstool got up and bent over the card table. The buxom nipple–slapper stood beside her and opened a wooden chest resting on the table. From inside, she lifted a black dildo with a snakehead at the end of it. It was a good 10 inches in length, like Malfoy—because it was an exact replica. Without fanfare, she thrusted into the footstool’s snatch, ignored her squeak of surprise, and began to work it in and out.

The curly–haired witch dropped onto Lucius's cock, wincing from the size. She rolled her pussy on him for no more than a minute before he slapped her rear and said, "That's enough, darling. Get on with it."

She lifted herself off and prepared to take him in her puckered hole. He allowed no such delay, and popped her onto him, eliciting a squeal of pain.

He smiled at his favorite sound. "Go on then."

With difficulty, she began to raise herself up and down. Lucius relaxed again as he watched his cock slide with great difficulty in and out of her arse. It made him happiest when they were forced to bugger themselves upon him, particularly when it was just a bit unpleasant for them.

“I'll let Narcissa know you'll be in place shortly,” Snape intoned.

"Stay. It'll go all the quicker with an audience. Amelia here can even do you for a jobby after."

“Millicent," the witch corrected, panting as she continued to work his horse cock.

The men acted as if she hadn't spoken.

"If I’m not back with a report within the minute, we may have an irate bride up here,” Snape said.

Lucius rolled his eyes and waved his assent.

* * *

The last image Snape saw was Lucius Accio-ing his riding crop into his hand. Snape closed the door as the first  _ thwack _ echoed. Only then did he reveal his true feelings with a silent sigh, before making his way back to the ballroom.

True to his word, Lucius was Scourgified and Crinus Muto’d not 15 minutes on, white bowtie crisp and prim behind its Malfoy crest broach. He winked at Snape next to him, Lucius’ signature smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

Snape merely nodded back, relieved his friend had made it in time. He had a feeling he would be to blame somehow if Lucius hadn't.

On the opposite side of the dais, Bellatrix rolled her eyes, no doubt having Legilimenced what had transpired upstairs. She met Snape’s eyes and he shifted under his heavy dress robes, not looking away, but without challenge either. 

He fought the urge to adjust the stiff, high collar of his new coat, still barely broken in though he had worn it every day for the last few weeks. He had opted for a white cravat rather than a tie, and found he rather liked the silkiness against his neck. He may just keep this look going forward, in another color perhaps. Black? What else for a Death Eater.

Into the back row of the groom’s side slipped the three witches who had had the honor of “preparing" Lucius for his wedding day upstairs, the one with the amber curls sitting gingerly.

With the audience complete, the harpist struck a cascading chord, and the full orchestra of twenty began the familiar strain of the classic wizard wedding march. All stood.

When it was over, the guests would gush over how angelically matched Lucius and Narcissa had looked, more perfect than the golden–haired dolls atop the cake that had been spelled to appear untouched even as guests returned for second and third slices.

But Snape would recall the uncomfortable, muffled sounds coming from the witch's throat as Lucius repeatedly entered it at a frenzied pace that belied his desperation. Not one hour after putting on a ring and he was in the scullery with a fresh Hogwarts graduate on her knees, helping him frantically affirm it wasn't a gold shackle around his finger.

Snape hoped Malfoy had also Scourgified that part of his body.

But he knew better than to put anything past his best friend.


	26. Epilogue: The Making of Euphemia Rowle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story lives on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it has been some time since you've played here, it may help to re-read from Chapter 22: The Breaking of Euphemia Rowle - Part I.

1998 - After the War

Her moans were so loud she didn’t hear her name being called the first time.

“Euphemia,” it came again.

Finally, the blonde opened her eyes. The dark head between her thighs looked up as well. Euphemia immediately pushed the peaked little face back between her legs. 

“You were not told to stop,” she said with the coldness of a voice she would never forget. But no matter how many times she attempted to mimic Snape over the last two decades, she could never approximate the complete command that thin man possessed.

She thought often of the Death Eater who had made it all the way to Headmaster before going down in glory in the service of the Dark Lord. Snape was just a boy when she had met him, scrawny and limp-haired, always so pale, even sallow. He gave all the appearance of malnourishment, yet his spindly arms belied a level of magic more powerful than she had since witnessed outside of the professors at Hogwarts. It was no wonder he led them.

His manhood certainly needed no nourishment.

Yes, she thought often of that as well. But more so of the first time she met him. Of his long, dexterous fingers inside of her, pumping her to rapid orgasm. How had those hands looked by the end, stained with years of potions in that dungeon Slughorn used to occupy? Snape had been a bat in that underground cave, so she heard. A terrifying one, but only to students. 

_ Those hands were wasted at Hogwarts. _

The memory of his hot breath and cold words into her ear as he pushed her against the tree hadn’t faded after twenty years. It brought her close to orgasm now, and she curled her fingers through the young witch’s dark hair, pushing roughly against the inexpert little tongue.

The feel of the strands through her fingers brought up another memory from that same autumn. This one she longed to forget. His hands, _ Snape’s _ —she forced herself to always say his name, she would not give the satisfaction of enlarging his presence even greater through fear—in her own hair, pushing her own face between the legs of that… _ hag _.

Now that name she would not say.

That vile witch had turned out quite inconsequential, hadn't she? Escaped from Azkaban after so long she would have been old and feeble. It was said she’d gone insane. And now killed by some Muggle-loving hausfrau.

Served her right.

Still the thought of her, and of what had happened between the three of them cooled Euphemia immediately. With a frustrated growl, she pushed the young witch off her.

“That was dreadful,” she said. “Go clean yourself. Tonight we’ll see how well you fuck.”

Teary–eyed, the dark–haired witch clutched her discarded robe to her chest and scrambled away.

Euphemia turned a haughty eye to her visitor. “The new girl needs practise.”

“They can't all be you,” the madam barked in her husky voice. Theodosia Yaxley was only forty-five, but smoke and drink—and not a small number of years in this brothel—had given her skin a leathery quality no amount of charmed makeup could cover. Like all Yaxleys, she was broad-shouldered, and as brash and loud as Corban.

It was big brother Corban who had brought these two witches together, ten years ago. Then twenty-six, Euphemia had taken a good, hard throat pounding from Yaxley behind a pub in Knockturn Alley, a side business she found herself doing with increasing frequency, as it earned distinctly more Galleons than washing bedpans at St. Mungo’s.

As a Pureblood, she could ask higher rates than the common whores who elbowed their way around the Knockturn pubs and flashed their wares so blatantly they may as well not charge for them. Euphemia kept herself neat and clean, and though the years since Hogwarts had not been kind on her—her aching back and roughened hands would prove—she knew her long flaxen hair and pert, upturned nose that matched the arrogant air she retained were a draw for the privileged pure-blood class.

Yaxley had been impressed by the ease with which the Rowle girl had accommodated his unhappy size; the fact that he was facefucking that knob Thorfinn’s cousin made it all the better. Just two days prior Yaxley had found himself on his backside, victim to an “errant” hex Thorfinn claimed was meant for some threat that had, conveniently, disappeared.

He had repaid the favor by emptying his bollocks into Thorfinn’s cousin's gullet. She swallowed. Not a drop spilled.

She wasn't half bad-looking, this one. He considered her as he shoved himself back into his trousers with a meaty hand.

He had given her the address of his sister’s brothel, and now ten years later, Theodosia was grooming Euphemia to take over a business that thrived in both peace and war times--possibly better in the latter. It certainly was booming in these fragile post-war days.

Who said real life stories didn't have happy endings, Euphemia thought dryly.

“Have I a patron?” she asked Theodosia. “For how long?”

“For life, one might say.”

Euphemia snorted. “Has Aemilius come to propose again? Tell him I don't believe for a minute he's the lost Gaunt heir.”

“Not matrimony,” said Theodosia. “Better.”

Euphemia lifted an eyebrow.

The madam reconsidered. “Or worse. Depending.”

“On what?”

Theodosia smiled wickedly. “Do you like children?”

Euphemia had lived with this Yaxley woman a decade now. They knew each other too well. Over too much sherry one evening, she had even told Theodosia about that fateful weekend back in her sixth year when she had begun to learn everything she knew now on that bed in Malfoy Manor, after which both she and her life were never the same. How it had set off the tired events of an ineffectual life: falling marks, scant few N.E.W.T.s—all failed—that led into menial occupations until she found herself pressed against the brick wall at the pointy end of Corban’s cock, and, finally, here.

Theodosia knew the Rowle witch’s resentment brewing constantly just below the surface, just as she knew that Euphemia was quietly, secretly dreaming revenge. She knew this because she saw the calculation in Euphemia’s eyes. It was the same as her own. It was why she was willing to entrust her entire establishment, her life's work to this relatively young witch.

Euphemia, in return, recalled all this now. Her shrewd mind ran over all the Death Eaters who had given birth in the last few years. There weren't many; most were occupied by the war efforts. But there had been one. A birth so secret, the madam had traded handsomely to learn of it. She had passed this information to her protege as a gift. One that was about to become very precious indeed.

“I can't say children are my favorite,” Euphemia said carefully.

“Not even poor little orphaned girls?”

Euphemia sat up in a flash. She almost dared not ask. Her voice was quiet, breathless. “Who is waiting for me?”

The madam leaned forward, ample bosom threatening to spill from her bodice, and gave the name that would be forever entwined with Euphemia Rowle's.

“Lestrange.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is with the weary joy of birth that I finally bring this serial to a close after over a year. There is always a nostalgic sadness in letting a work fly fully into the world. 
> 
> Thank you so much for forming such an enthusiastic, insightful, and supportive readership who has seen me through several rounds of chemo. Writing in this universe has changed my life and my craft, it has brought me real life friendships and ceaseless wrist and arm pain.
> 
> This is not the end. In this universe, Death Eaters Never Die.
> 
> (Literally...I bring you After the War, a new collection of excellent Snauthors. Now accepting submissions! See profile for link.)


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